LIBRARY 

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CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


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Wonders  of  Nature 


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Wonders  of  Nature 

As  Seen  and  Described 
by     Famous     Writers 

EDITED  AND  TRANSLATED 

BY  ESTHER ,  JINGLETON 

AUTHOR  OF  "  TURRETS,  TOWERS  AND  TEMPLES,"  "  GREAT 
PICTURES,"  "PARIS,"  AND  "A  GUIDE  TO  THE  OPERA,"  AND 
TRANSLATOR  OF  THE  MUSIC  DRAMAS  OF  RICHARD  WAGNER 

With   Numerous   Illustrations 


NEW   YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
1900 


Copyright,  1900 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


Preface 

IN  my  former  collections  of  objects  of  interest  to  the 
tourist,  I  have  confined  myself  to  masterpieces  of 
painting  and  architecture.  The  success  of  those  books  has 
encouraged  me  to  carry  the  idea  still  further  and  make  a 
compilation  of  pleasurable  and  striking  impressions  pro- 
duced upon  thoughtful  travellers  by  a  contemplation  of  the 
wonders  of  nature. 

The  range  is  somewhat  limited,  for  I  have  confined  my- 
self to  the  description  of  the  grand,  the  curious  and  the 
awe-inspiring  in  nature,  leaving  the  beauties  of  landscape 
for  future  treatment.  Those  who  miss  the  Lakes  of  Kil- 
larney  or  the  vine-clad  hills  of  the  Rhine  therefore  will  re- 
member that  in  the  following  pages  I  have  purposely 
neglected  beautiful  scenery. 

The  professional  traveller,  by  which  I  mean  the  emissary 
of  a  scientific  society,  appears  very  seldom  here,  because  it 
is  the  effect  produced  rather  than  the  topographical  or  de- 
tailed description  that  I  have  sought.  I  hope  this  book  will 
appeal  to  that  large  class  of  readers  that  takes  pleasure  in 
travelling  by  imagination,  as  well  as  to  those  who  have 
actually  seen  the  objects  described  and  pictured  here. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  the  difference  between  the  old 
and  the  modern  travellers.  The  day  of  the  Marco  Polos 


Copyright,  1900 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 


Preface 


IN  my  former  collections  of  objects  of  interest  to  the 
tourist,  I  have  confined  myself  to  masterpieces  of 
painting  and  architecture.  The  success  of  those  books  has 
encouraged  me  to  carry  the  idea  still  further  and  make  a 
compilation  of  pleasurable  and  striking  impressions  pro- 
duced upon  thoughtful  travellers  by  a  contemplation  of  the 
wonders  of  nature. 

The  range  is  somewhat  limited,  for  I  have  confined  my- 
self to  the  description  of  the  grand,  the  curious  and  the 
awe-inspiring  in  nature,  leaving  the  beauties  of  landscape 
for  future  treatment.  Those  who  miss  the  Lakes  of  Kil- 
larney  or  the  vine-clad  hills  of  the  Rhine  therefore  will  re- 
member that  in  the  following  pages  I  have  purposely 
neglected  beautiful  scenery. 

The  professional  traveller,  by  which  I  mean  the  emissary 
of  a  scientific  society,  appears  very  seldom  here,  because  it 
is  the  effect  produced  rather  than  the  topographical  or  de- 
tailed description  that  I  have  sought.  I  hope  this  book  will 
appeal  to  that  large  class  of  readers  that  takes  pleasure  in 
travelling  by  imagination,  as  well  as  to  those  who  have 
actually  seen  the  objects  described  and  pictured  here. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  the  difference  between  the  old 
and  the  modern  travellers.  The  day  of  the  Marco  Polos 


vi  PREFACE 

has  passed;  the  traveller  of  old  seemed  to  feel  himself 
under  an  obligation  to  record  marvels  and  report  trifling 
details,  while  the  modern  traveller  is  more  concerned  about 
describing  or  analyzing  the  effect  produced  upon  himself. 
He  feels  it  encumbent  upon  him  to  exhibit  aesthetic  appre- 
ciation. For  this  tendency  we  have  to  thank  Gautier  and 
his  humble  follower  D'Amicis.  Thackeray  and  Dickens 
write  of  their  journeyings  in  a  holiday  spirit ;  Kipling  is  a 
stimulating  combination  of  the  flippant  and  the  devout; 
Shelley  is  quite  up  to  date  ;  and  Fromentin  and  Gautier  always 
speak  in  terms  of  the  palette.  Thus  we  get  an  additional 
pleasure  from  the  varied  literary  treatment  of  nature's 
wonders — apart  from  their  intrinsic  interest. 

Though  there  is  a  great  deal  of  information  in  the  fol- 
lowing pages,  I  have  generally  avoided  what  is  simply  in- 
structive; my  aim  has  been  to  suit  all  tastes. 

For  the  kind  permission  to  use  The  Mammoth  Cave,  Fust 
San  and  The  Antarctic,  and  The  Yellowstone,  my  best  thanks 
are  due  to  Messrs.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Messrs.  Long- 
mans, Green  and  Co.,  and  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling. 

E.  S. 

NEW  YORK,  September,  1900. 


Contents 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO  OF  CAPRI  .....          I 

ALEXANDRE    DUMAS. 

MOUNT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI          .....          7 
PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 

THE  DEAD  SEA       .          .          .          .         .         .          .         .15 

PIERRE  LOTI. 

MOUNT  VESUVIUS  .......        25 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 

THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE        ......        39 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

IN  ARCTIC  AND  ANTARCTIC  SEAS       .....       46 

I.  LORD  DUFFERIN. 

II.     W.  G.  BURN  MURDOCK 

THE  DESERT  OF  SAHARA  .          .          .          .          .         -55 

EUGENE  FROMENTIN. 
FINGAL'S  CAVE       ........       62 

I.     SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
II.     JOHN  KEATS. 

IN  THE  HIMALAYAS          .         .         .          .         .         .         •       7* 

G.  W.  STEEVENS. 

NIAGARA  FALLS      ........       79 

I.     ANTHONY  TROLLOPE. 

II.  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

FUJI-SAN 90 

SIR  EDWIN  ARNOLD. 


viii  CONTENTS 

THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON          ......        98 

ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE. 

THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  .          .          .          .          .          .103 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

THE  GREAT  GLACIER  or  THE  SELKIRKS       .          .          .         .113 
DOUGLAS  SLADEN. 

MAUNA  LOA  .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .118 

LADY  BRASSEY 
TROLLHATTA         .          .          .          .         .          .          .          .129 

HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN. 

THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO    .          .          .          .134 
C.  F.  GORDON-GUMMING. 

THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR        .          .          .         .          .  139 

AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE. 
THINGVALLA  .         .          .          .          .          .          .  144 

LORD  DUFFERIN. 

LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK          .          .          .          .          .152 

JOHN  AYRTON  PARIS. 
MOUNT  HEKLA      .         .          .          .          .          .          .          .160 

SIR  RICHARD  F.  BURTON. 
VICTORIA  FALLS     .          .         .          .          .          .          .          .169 

DAVID  LIVINGSTONE. 

THE  DRAGON-TREE  OF  OROTAVA      .          .          .          .          .179 
ALEXANDER  VON  HUMBOLDT 

MOUNT  SHASTA     .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .183 

J.  W.  BODDAM-WHEATHAM. 
THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE         .          .          .          .          .          .189 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 
THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE  .          .          .          .          .199 

AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS. 
IN  THE  ALPS  ........      205 

TH&OPHILE  GAUTIER. 


CONTENTS 

THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR  ..... 

ANDREW  WILSON 

THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH       .......      220 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 

THE  LACHINE  RAPIDS      ...."...      228 
DOUGLAS  SLADEN. 

LAKE  ROTORUA      .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .232 

H.  R.  HAWEIS. 

THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA         .....     239 
C.  F.  GORDON— GUMMING. 

GERSOPPA  FALLS    .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .      248 

W.  M.  YOOL. 
ETNA  .          .          .          ...          .          .          .          .      254 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

PIKE'S  PEAK  AND  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS       .          .          .     263 
IZA  DUFFUS  HARDY. 

THE  GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND       .....     268 
SIR  RICHARD  F.  BURTON. 

THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE   .          .          .          .          .          .275 

WILLIAM  BEATTIE. 
THE  MAMMOTH  CAVE    .......     283 

BAYARD   TAYLOR. 
STROMBOLI    .          .         .          .'         .          .          .          .          .     295 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 
THE  HIGH  WOODS          .......     302 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 
THE  Yo-sEMiTfe  VALLEY          .          .          .          .          .         .323 

C.  F.  GORDON-GUMMING. 

THE  GOLDEN  HORN       .......     342 

ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE. 

THE  YELLOWSTONE          .          .          .          .          .          .  352 

RUDYARD  KIPLING. 


Illustrations 


MER  DE  GLACE,  MONT  BLANC Switzerland  .       Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

BLUE  GROTTO Italy 2 

CHAMOUNI,  MER  DE  GLACE Switzerland 8 

THE  DEAD  SEA       Palestine 16 

MOUNT  VESUVIUS Italy 26 

THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE Germany 40 

AN  ICE  FLOE Antarctic 52 

THE  DESERT  OF  SAHARA Africa 56 

FINGAL'S  CAVE Scotland 62 

THE  HIMILAYAS India     .......    72 

NIAGARA  FALLS North  America    ....    80 

NIAGARA  FALLS  IN  WINTER North  America    ....    86 

Fuji-SAN Japan 90 

THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON Syria 98 

THE  GIANT'S  LOOM,  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  .   Ireland 104 

THE  KEYSTONE,  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  .    .    .  Ireland 108 

THE  GREAT  GLACIER  OF  THE  SELKIRKS    .  Canada 1 14 

LAVA  CASCADE  FLOW Hawaii 118 

TROLLHATTA Sweden 130 

CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO North  America    .    .   .    .134 

THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR Spain 140 

THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR Spain    .  142 

THINGVALLA Iceland 144 

ROCKING  STONES,  LAND'S  END England 152 

FALLS  OF  THE  ZAMBESI Africa 170 

THE  DRAGON-TREE Teneri/e 180 

MOUNT  SHASTA North  America    ....  184 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  LAGOONS Italy 190 


xii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FIRST  CATARACT  OF  THE  NILE Africa 198 

MONT  BLANC Switzerland 206 

AIGUILLE  DU  DRU,  ALPS Switzerland 210 

THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR India 212 

THE  LACHINE  RAPIDS Canada 228 

LAKE  ROTORUA New  Zealand 232 

THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA North  America    .    .    .      240 

GERSOPPA  FALLS India 248 

ETNA Sicily 254 

THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS America 264 

THE  IRON  GATES  OF  THE  DANUBE      .    .    .  Turkey 276 

THE  HIGH  WOODS South  America     ....  302 

THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY^ North  America    .    .       .  324 

THE  GOLDEN  HORN Turkey 342 

COSTING  SPRINGS,  YELLOWSTONE North  America    .    .         352 


WONDERS  OF  NATURE 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO  OF  CAPRI 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

WE  were  surrounded  by  five  and  twenty  boatmen, 
each  of  whom  exerted  himself  to  get  our  cus- 
tom :  these  were  the  ciceroni  of  the  Blue  Grotto.  I  chose 
one  and  Jadin  another,  for  you  must  have  a  boat  and  a 
boatman  to  get  there,  the  opening  being  so  low  and  so  nar- 
row that  one  cannot  enter  unless  in  a  very  small  boat. 

The  sea  was  calm,  nevertheless,  even  in  this  beautiful 
weather  it  broke  with  such  force  against  the  belt  of  rocks 
surrounding  the  island  that  our  barks  bounded  as  if  in  a 
tempest,  and  we  were  obliged  to  lie  down  and  cling  to  the 
sides  to  avoid  being  thrown  into  the  sea.  At  last,  after 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  of  navigation,  during  which  we 
skirted  about  one-sixth  of  the  island's  circumference,  our 
boatmen  informed  us  of  our  arrival.  We  looked  about  us, 
but  we  could  not  perceive  the  slightest  suspicion  of  a  grotto 
until  we  made  out  with  difficulty  a  little  black,  circular 
point  above  the  foaming  waves :  this  was  the  orifice  of  the 

vault. 

i 


2  THE  BLUE  GROTTO  OF  CAPRI 

The  first  sight  of  this  entrance  was  not  reassuring :  you 
could  not  understand  how  it  was  possible  to  clear  it  without 
breaking  your  head  against  the  rocks.  As  the  question 
seemed  important  enough  for  discussion,  I  put  it  to  my 
boatman,  who  replied  that  we  were  perfectly  right  in  re- 
maining seated  now,  but  presently  we  must  lie  down  to 
avoid  the  danger.  We  had  not  come  so  far  as  this  to  flinch. 
It  was  my  turn  first;  my  boatman  advanced,  rowing  with 
precaution  and  indicating  that,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  the 
work,  he  could  not  regard  it  as  exempt  from  danger.  As 
for  me,  from  the  position  that  I  occupied,  I  could  see  noth- 
ing but  the  sky  ;  soon  I  felt  myself  rising  upon  a  wave,  the 
boat  slid  down  it  rapidly,  and  I  saw  nothing  but  a  rock  that 
seemed  for  a  second  to  weigh  upon  my  breast.  Then,  sud- 
denly, I  found  myself  in  a  grotto  so  marvellous  that  I  gave 
a  cry  of  astonishment,  and  I  jumped  up  so  quickly  to  look 
about  me  that  I  nearly  capsized  the  boat. 

In  reality,  before  me,  around  me,  above  me,  under  me, 
and  behind  me  were  marvels  of  which  no  description  can 
give  an  idea,  and  before  which,  the  brush  itself,  the  grand 
preserver  of  human  memories,  is  powerless.  You  must 
imagine  an  immense  cavern  entirely  of  azure,  just  as  if  God 
had  amused  himself  by  making  a  pavilion  with  fragments  of 
the  firmament;  water  so  limpid,  so  transparent,  and  so 
pure  that  you  seemed  floating  upon  dense  air;  from  the 
ceiling  stalactites  hanging  like  inverted  pyramids ;  in  the 
background  a  golden  sand  mingled  with  submarine  vegeta- 
tion ;  along  the  walls  which  were  bathed  by  the  water  there 
were  trees  of  coral  with  irregular  and  dazzling  branches;  at 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO  OF  CAPRI  3 

the  sea-entrance,  a  tiny  point — a  star — let  in  the  half-light 
that  illumines  this  fairy  palace;  finally,  at  the  opposite  end, 
a  kind  of  stage  arranged  like  the  throne  of  a  splendid  god- 
dess who  has  chosen  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world  for 
her  baths. 

At  this  moment  the  entire  grotto  assumed  a  deeper  hue, 
darkening  as  the  earth  does  when  a  cloud  passes  across  the 
sun  at  brightest  noontide.  It  was  caused  by  Jadin,  who 
entered  in  his  turn  and  whose  boat  closed  the  mouth  of  the 
cavern.  Soon  he  was  thrown  near  me  by  the  force  of  the 
wave  that  had  lifted  him  up ;  the  grotto  recovered  its  beauti- 
ful shade  of  azure  ;  and  his  boat  stopped  tremblingly  near 
mine,  for  this  sea,  so  agitated  and  obstreperous  outside, 
breathes  here  as  serenely  and  gently  as  a  lake. 

In  all  probability  the  Blue  Grotto  was  unknown  to  the 
ancients.  No  poet  speaks  of  it,  and  certainly,  with  their 
marvellous  imagination,  the  Greeks  would  not  have  neg- 
lected making  of  it  the  palace  of  some  sea-goddess  with  a 
musical  name  and  leaving  some  story  to  us.  Suetonius, 
who  describes  for  us  with  so  much  detail  the  Thermes  and 
baths  of  Tiberius,  would  certainly  have  devoted  a  few 
words  to  this  natural  pool  which  the  old  emperor  would 
doubtless  have  chosen  as  the  theatre  for  some  of  his  mon- 
strous pleasures.  No,  the  ocean  must  have  been  much 
higher  at  that  epoch  than  it  is  at  present,  and  this  marvel- 
lous sea-cave  was  known  only  to  Amphitrite  and  her  court 
of  Sirens,  Naiads,  and  Tritons. 

But  sometimes  Amphitrite  is  angered  with  the  indiscreet 
travellers  who  follow  her  into  this  retreat,  just  as  Diana 


4  THE  BLUE  GROTTO   OF   CAPRI 

was  when  surprised  by  Actaeon.  At  such  times  the  sea 
rises  suddenly  and  closes  the  entrance  so  effectually  that 
those  who  have  entered  cannot  leave.  In  this  case,  they 
must  wait  until  the  wind,  which  has  veered  from  east  to 
west,  changes  to  south  or  north ;  and  it  has  even  happened 
that  visitors,  who  have  come  to  spend  twenty  minutes  in 
the  Blue  Grotto,  have  had  to  remain  two,  three,  and,  even 
four,  days.  Therefore,  the  boatmen  always  carry  with  them 
a  certain  portion  of  a  kind  of  biscuit  to  nourish  the  prison- 
ers in  the  event  of  such  an  accident.  With  regard  to  water, 
enough  filters  through  two  or  three  places  in  the  grotto  to 
prevent  any  fear  of  thirst.  I  bestowed  a  few  reproaches 
upon  my  boatman  for  having  waited  so  long  to  apprise  me 
of  so  disquieting  a  fact ;  but  he  replied  with  a  charming 
naivete : 

"  Dame !  excellence !  If  we  told  this  to  the  visitors  at 
first,  only  half  would  come,  and  that  would  make  the  boat- 
men angry." 

I  admit  that  after  this  accidental  information,  I  was  seized 
with  a  certain  uneasiness,  on  account  of  which  I  found  the 
Blue  Grotto  infinitely  less  delightful  than  it  had  appeared  to 
me  at  first.  Unfortunately,  my  boatman  had  told  me  these 
details  just  at  the  moment  when  I  was  undressing  to  bathe 
in  this  water,  which  is  so  beautiful  and  transparent  that  to 
attract  the  fisherman  it  would  not  need  the  song  of  Goethe's 
poetical  Undine.  We  were  unwilling  to  waste  any  time  in 
preparations,  and,  wishing  to  enjoy  ourselves  as  much  as 
possible,  we  both  dived. 

It  is  only  when  you  are  five  or  six  feet  below  the  surface 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO  OF  CAPRI  5 

of  the  water  that  you  can  appreciate  its  incredible  purity. 
Notwithstanding  the  liquid  that  envelops  the  diver,  no  de- 
tail escapes  him ;  he  sees  everything, — the  tiniest  shell  at 
the  base  of  the  smallest  stalactite  of  the  arch,  just  as  clearly 
as  if  through  the  air;  only  each  object  assumes  a  deeper 
hue. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  we  clambered  back 
into  our  boats  and  dressed  ourselves  without  having  appar- 
ently attracted  one  of  the  invisible  nymphs  of  this  watery 
palace,  who  would  not  have  hesitated,  if  the  contrary  had 
been  the  case,  to  have  kept  us  here  twenty-four  hours  at 
least.  The  fact  was  humiliating ;  but  neither  of  us  pre- 
tended to  be  a  Telemachus,  and  so  we  took  our  departure. 
We  again  crouched  in  the  bottom  of  our  respective  canoes, 
and  we  went  out  of  the  Blue  Grotto  with  the  same  precau- 
tions and  the  same  good  luck  with  which  we  had  entered 
it :  only  it  was  six  minutes  before  we  could  open  our  eyes ; 
the  ardent  glare  of  the  sun  blinded  us.  We  had  not  gone 
more  than  a  hundred  feet  away  from  the  spot  we  had 
visited  before  it  seemed  to  have  melted  into  a  dream. 

We  landed  again  at  the  port  of  Capri.  While  we  were 
settling  our  account  with  our  boatmen,  Pietro  pointed  out 
a  man  lying  down  in  the  sunshine  with  his  face  in  the  sand. 
This  was  the  fisherman  who  nine  or  ten  years  ago  discov- 
ered the  Blue  Grotto  while  looking  for  frutti  dl  mare  along 
the  rocks.  He  went  immediately  to  the  authorities  of  the 
island  to  make  his  discovery  known,  and  asked  the  privi- 
lege of  being  the  only  one  allowed  to  conduct  visitors  to 
the  new  world  he  had  found,  and  to  have  revenue  from 


6  THE  BLUE  GROTTO  OF  CAPRI 

those  visitors.  The  authorities,  who  saw  in  this  discovery 
a  means  of  attracting  strangers  to  their  island,  agreed  to  the 
second  proposition,  and  since  that  time  this  new  Christopher 
Columbus  has  lived  upon  his  income  and  does  not  trouble 
to  conduct  the  visitors  himself;  this  explains  why  he  can 
sleep  as  we  see  him.  He  is  the  most  envied  individual  in 
the  island. 

As  we  had  seen  all  that  Capri  offered  us  in  the  way  of 
wonders,  we  stepped  into  our  launch  and  regained  the 
Speronare^  which,  profiting  by  several  puffs  of  the  land 
breeze,  set  sail  and  gently  glided  off  in  the  direction  of 
Palermo. 

Le  Speronare  :   Impressions  de  Voyage     (Paris,  1836). 


MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI 

PERCY  BYSSHE   SHELLEY 

FROM  Servoz  three  leagues  remain  to  Chamouni — 
Mont  Blanc  was  before  us — the  Alps,  with  their 
innumerable  glaciers  on  high  all  around,  closing  in  the 
complicated  windings  of  the  single  vale — forests  inexpress- 
ibly beautiful,  but  majestic  in  their  beauty — intermingled 
beech  and  pine,  and  oak,  overshadowed  our  road,  or  re- 
ceded, whilst  lawns  of  such  verdure  as  I  have  never  seen 
before  occupied  these  openings,  and  gradually  became 
darker  in  their  recesses.  Mont  Blanc  was  before  us,  but  it 
was  covered  with  cloud  ;  its  base  furrowed  with  dreadful 
gaps,  was  seen  above.  Pinnacles  of  snow  intolerably 
bright,  part  of  the  chain  connected  with  Mont  Blanc,  shone 
through  the  clouds  at  intervals  on  high.  I  never  knew — I 
never  imagined  what  mountains  were  before.  The  im- 
mensity of  these  aerial  summits  excited,  when  they  sud- 
denly burst  upon  the  sight,  a  sentiment  of  extatic  wonder, 
not  unallied  to  madness.  And  remember  this  was  all  one 
scene,  it  all  pressed  home  to  our  regard  and  our  imagina- 
tion. Though  it  embraced  a  vast  extent  of  space,  the 
snowy  pyramids  which  shot  into  the  bright  blue  sky  seemed 
to  overhang  our  path  ;  the  ravine,  clothed  with  gigantic 
pines,  and  black  with  its  depth  below,  so  deep  that  the  very 


8  MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI 

roaring  of  the  untameable  Arve,  which  rolled  through  it 
could  not  be  heard  above — all  was  as  much  our  own,  as  if 
we  had  been  the  creators  of  such  impressions  in  the  minds 
of  others  as  now  occupied  our  own.  Nature  was  the  poet, 
whose  harmony  held  our  spirits  more  breathless  than  that 
of  the  divinest. 

As  we  entered  the  valley  of  Chamouni  (which  in  fact 
may  be  considered  as  a  continuation  of  those  which  we 
have  followed  from  Bonneville  and  Cluses)  clouds  hung 
upon  the  mountains  at  the  distance  perhaps  of  6,000  feet 
from  the  earth,  but  so  as  effectually  to  conceal  not  only 
Mont  Blanc,  but  the  other  aiguilles^  as  they  call  them  here, 
attached  and  subordinate  to  them.  We  were  travelling 
along  the  valley,  when  suddenly  we  heard  a  sound  as  of 
the  burst  of  smothered  thunder  rolling  above  ;  yet  there 
was  something  earthly  in  the  sound,  that  told  us  it  could 
not  be  thunder.  Our  guide  hastily  pointed  out  to  us  a  part 
of  the  mountain  opposite,  from  whence  the  sound  came. 
It  was  an  avalanche.  We  saw  the  smoke  of  its  path 
among  the  rocks,  and  continued  to  hear  at  intervals  the 
bursting  of  its  fall.  It  fell  on  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  which 
it  displaced,  and  presently  we  saw  its  tawny-coloured  wa- 
ters also  spread  themselves  over  the  ravine,  which  was  their 
couch. 

We  did  not,  as  we  intended,  visit  the  Glacier  de  Boisson 
to-day,  although  it  descends  within  a  few  minutes'  walk  of 
the  road,  wishing  to  survey  it  at  least  when  unfatigued. 
We  saw  this  glacier  which  comes  close  to  the  fertile  plain, 
as  we  passed,  its  surface  was  broken  into  a  thousand  unac- 


MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI  9 

countable  figures :  conical  and  pyramidical  crystallizations, 
more  than  fifty  feet  in  height,  rise  from  its  surface,  and 
precipices  of  ice,  of  dazzling  splendour,  overhang  the 
woods  and  meadows  of  the  vale.  This  glacier  winds  up- 
wards from  the  valley,  until  it  joins  the  masses  of  frost 
from  which  it  was  produced  above,  winding  through  its 
own  ravine  like  a  bright  belt  flung  over  the  black  region  of 
pines.  There  is  more  in  all  these  scenes  than  mere  mag- 
nitude of  proportion  :  there  is  a  majesty  of  outline ;  there 
is  an  awful  grace  in  the  very  colours  which  invest  these 
wonderful  shapes — a  charm  which  is  peculiar  to  them,  quite 
distinct  even  from  the  reality  of  their  unutterable  greatness. 
Yesterday  morning  we  went  to  the  source  of  the 
Arveiron.  It  is  about  a  league  from  this  village ;  the 
river  rolls  forth  impetuously  from  an  arch  of  ice,  and 
spreads  itself  in  many  streams  over  a  vast  space  of  the  val- 
ley, ravaged  and  laid  bare  by  its  inundations.  The  glacier 
by  which  its  waters  are  nourished,  overhangs  this  cavern 
and  the  plain,  and  the  forests  of  pine  which  surround  it, 
with  terrible  precipices  of  solid  ice.  On  the  other  side 
rises  the  immense  glacier  of  Montanvert,  fifty  miles  in  ex- 
tent, occupying  a  chasm  among  mountains  of  inconceivable 
height,  and  of  forms  so  pointed  and  abrupt,  that  they  seem 
to  pierce  the  sky.  From  this  glacier  we  saw  as  we  sat  on 
a  rock,  close  to  one  of  the  streams  of  the  Arveiron,  masses 
of  ice  detach  themselves  from  on  high,  and  rush  with  a  loud 
dull  noise  into  the  vale.  The  violence  of  their  fall  turned 
them  into  powder,  which  flowed  over  the  rocks  in  imita- 
tion of  waterfalls,  whose  ravines  they  usurped  and  filled. 


IO  MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI 

In  the  evening  I  went  with  Ducree,  my  guide,  the  only 
tolerable  person  I  have  seen  in  this  country,  to  visit  the 
glacier  of  Boisson.  This  glacier,  like  that  of  Montanvert, 
comes  close  to  the  vale,  overhanging  the  green  meadows 
and  the  dark  woods  with  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  its  prec- 
ipices and  pinnacles,  which  are  like  spires  of  radiant  crystal 
covered  with  a  network  of  frosted  silver.  These  glaciers 
flow  perpetually  into  the  valley,  ravaging  in  their  slow  but 
irresistible  progress  the  pastures  and  the  forests  which  sur- 
round them,  performing  a  work  of  desolation  in  ages, 
which  a  river  of  lava  might  accomplish  in  an  hour,  but  far 
more  irretrievably  ;  for  where  the  ice  has  once  descended, 
the  hardiest  plant  refuses  to  grow ;  if  even,  as  in  some  ex- 
traordinary instances,  it  should  recede  after  its  progress  has 
once  commenced.  The  glaciers  perpetually  move  onward, 
at  the  rate  of  a  foot  each  day,  with  a  motion  that  com- 
mences at  the  spot  where,  on  the  boundaries  of  perpetual 
congelation,  they  are  produced  by  the  freezing  of  the  waters 
which  arise  from  the  partial  melting  of  the  eternal  snows. 
They  drag  with  them  from  the  regions  whence  they  derive 
their  origin,  all  the  ruins  of  the  mountain,  enormous  rocks, 
and  immense  accumulations  of  sand  and  stones.  These  are 
driven  onwards  by  the  irresistible  stream  of  solid  ice ;  and 
when  they  arrive  at  a  declivity  of  the  mountain,  sufficiently 
rapid,  roll  down,  scattering  ruin.  I  saw  one  of  these  rocks 
which  had  descended  in  the  spring  (winter  here  is  the  sea- 
son of  silence  and  safety)  which  measured  forty  feet  in 
every  direction. 

The  verge  of  a  glacier,  like  that  of  Boisson,  presents  the 


MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI  1 1 

most  vivid  image  of  desolation  that  it  is  possible  to  con- 
ceive. No  one  dares  to  approach  it ;  for  the  enormous 
pinnacles  of  ice  which  perpetually  fall,  are  perpetually  re- 
produced. The  pines  of  the  forest,  which  bound  it  at  one 
extremity,  are  overthrown  and  shattered  to  a  wide  extent  at 
its  base.  There  is  something  inexpressibly  dreadful  in  the 
aspect  of  the  few  branchless  trunks,  which,  nearest  to  the 
ice  rifts,  still  stand  in  the  uprooted  soil.  The  meadows 
perish,  overwhelmed  with  sand  and  stones.  Within  this 
last  year,  these  glaciers  have  advanced  three  hundred  feet 
into  the  valley.  Saussure,  the  naturalist,  says,  that  they 
have  their  periods  of  increase  and  decay :  the  people  of  the 
country  hold  an  opinion  entirely  different;  but  as  I  judge, 
more  probable.  It  is  agreed  by  all,  that  the  snow  on  the 
summit  of  Mont  Blanc  and  the  neighbouring  mountains 
perpetually  augments,  and  that  ice,  in  the  form  of  glaciers, 
subsists  without  melting  in  the  valley  of  Chamouni  during 
its  transient  and  variable  summer.  If  the  snow  which  pro- 
duces this  glacier  must  augment,  and  the  heat  of  the  valley 
is  no  obstacle  to  the  perpetual  existence  of  such  masses  of 
ice  as  have  already  descended  into  it,  the  consequence  is 
obvious;  the  glaciers  must  augment  and  will  subsist,  at 
least  until  they  have  overflowed  this  vale. 

I  will  not  pursue  BufFon's  sublime  but  gloomy  theory — 
that  this  globe  which  we  inhabit  will  at  some  future  period 
be  changed  into  a  mass  of  frost  by  the  encroachment  of  the 
polar  ice,  and  of  that  produced  on  the  most  elevated  points 
of  the  earth.  Do  you,  who  assert  the  supremacy  of  Ahri- 
inan,  imagine  him  throned  among  these  desolating  snows, 


12  MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI 

among  these  palaces  of  death  and  frost,  so  sculptured  in  this 
their  terrible  magnificence  by  the  adamantine  hand  of 
necessity,  and  that  he  casts  around  him,  as  the  first  essays 
of  his  final  usurpation,  avalanches,  torrents,  rocks,  and 
thunders,  and  above  all  these  deadly  glaciers,  at  once  the 
proof  and  symbols  of  his  reign ; — add  to  this,  the  degrada- 
tion of  the  human  species — who  in  these  regions  are  half- 
deformed  or  idiotic,  and  most  of  whom  are  deprived  of  any- 
thing that  can  excite  interest  or  admiration.  This  is  a  part 
of  the  subject  more  mournful  and  less  sublime ;  but  such 
as  neither  the  poet  nor  the  philosopher  should  disdain  to 
regard. 

This  morning  we  departed  on  the  promise  of  a  fine  day, 
to  visit  the  glacier  of  Montanvert.  In  that  part  where  it 
fills  a  slanting  valley,  it  is  called  the  Sea  of  Ice.  .  This  val- 
ley is  950  toises,  or  7,600  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
We  had  not  proceeded  far  before  the  rain  began  to  fall,  but 
we  persisted  until  we  had  accomplished  more  than  half  of 
our  journey,  when  we  returned,  wet  through. 

CHAMOUNI,  July  25th. 

We  have  returned  from  visiting  the  glacier  of  Montan- 
vert, or  as  it  is  called,  the  Sea  of  Ice,  a  scene  in  truth  of 
dizzying  wonder.  The  path  that  winds  to  it  along  the 
side  of  a  mountain,  now  clothed  with  pines,  now  intersected 
with  snowy  hollows,  is  wide  and  steep.  The  cabin  of 
Montanvert  is  three  leagues  from  Chamouni,  half  of  which 
distance  is  performed  on  mules,  not  so  sure  footed,  but  that 
on  the  first  day  the  one  I  rode  fell  in  what  the  guides  call  a 


MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI  13 

mainjais  pas^  so  that  I  narrowly  escaped  being  precipitated 
down  the  mountain.  We  passed  over  a  hollow  covered 
with  snow,  down  which  vast  stones  are  accustomed  to  roll. 
One  had  fallen  the  preceding  day,  a  little  time  after  we  had 
returned :  our  guides  desired  us  to  pass  quickly,  for  it  is  said 
that  sometimes  the  least  sound  will  accelerate  their  descent. 
We  arrived  at  Montanvert,  however,  safe. 

On  all  sides  precipitous  mountains,  the  abodes  of  unre- 
lenting frost,  surround  this  vale :  their  sides  are  banked  up 
with  ice  and  snow,  broken,  heaped  high,  and  exhibiting  ter- 
rific chasms.  The  summits  are  sharp  and  naked  pinnacles, 
whose  overhanging  steepness  will  not  even  permit  snow  to 
rest  upon  them.  Lines  of  dazzling  ice  occupy  here  and 
there  their  perpendicular  rifts,  and  shine  through  the  driving 
vapours  with  inexpressible  brilliance  :  they  pierce  the  clouds 
like  things  not  belonging  to  this  earth.  The  vale  itself  is 
filled  with  a  mass  of  undulating  ice,  and  has  an  ascent  suf- 
ficiently gradual  even  to  the  remotest  abysses  of  these  hor- 
rible deserts.  It  is  only  half  a  league  (about  two  miles)  in 
breadth,  and  seems  much  less.  It  exhibits  an  appearance  as 
if  frost  had  suddenly  bound  up  the  waves  and  whirlpools  of 
a  mighty  torrent.  We  walked  some  distance  upon  its  sur- 
face. The  waves  are  elevated  about  twelve  or  fifteen  feet 
from  the  surface  of  the  mass,  which  is  intersected  by  long 
gaps  of  unfathomable  depth,  the  ice  of  whose  sides  is  more 
beautifully  azure  than  the  sky.  In  these  regions  every- 
thing changes,  and  is  in  motion.  This  vast  mass  of  ice  has 
one  general  progress,  which  ceases  neither  day  nor  night ; 
it  breaks  and  bursts  forever  :  some  undulations  sink  while 


14  MONT  BLANC  AND  CHAMOUNI 

others  rise ;  it  is  never  the  same.  The  echo  of  rocks,  or 
of  the  ice  and  snow  which  fall  from  their  overhanging 
precipices,  or  roll  from  their  aerial  summits,  scarcely  ceases 
for  one  moment.  One  would  think  that  Mont  Blanc,  like 
the  god  of  the  Stoics,  was  a  vast  animal,  and  that  the 
frozen  blood  forever  circulated  through  his  stony  veins. 

Prose  works  (London,  1880). 


THE  DEAD  SEA 

PIERRE  LOTI 

A  SOUND  of  church  bells  follows  us  for  a  long  time 
in  the  lonely  country  as  we  ride  away  on  horse- 
back in  the  early  morning  towards  Jericho,  towards  the 
Jordan  and  the  Dead  Sea.  The  Holy  City  speedily  disap- 
pears from  our  eyes,  hidden  behind  the  Mount  of  Olives. 
There  are  fields  of  green  barley  here  and  there,  but  principally 
regions  of  stones  and  asphodels.  Nowhere  are  there  any 
trees.  Red  anemones  and  violet  irises  enamel  the  greyness 
of  the  rough  country,  all  rock  and  desert.  By  a  series  of 
gorges,  valleys,  and  precipices  we  follow  a  gradually  de- 
scending route.  Jerusalem  is  at  an  altitude  of  eight  hundred 
metres  and  this  Dead  Sea  to  which  we  are  going  is  four 
hundred  metres  below  the  level  of  other  seas. 

If  it  were  not  for  this  way  for  vehicles  upon  which  our 
horses  walk  so  easily,  one  would  be  tempted  to  call  it  every 
now  and  then  Idumaea,  or  Arabia. 

This  road  to  Jericho  is,  moreover,  full  of  people  to-day  : 
Bedouins  upon  camels  ;  Arabian  shepherds  driving  hundreds 
of  black  goats ;  bands  of  Cook's  tourists  on  horseback,  or 
in  mule-chairs ;  Russian  pilgrims,  who  are  returning  on 
foot  from  the  Jordan,  piously  carrying  gourds  filled  with 
water  from  the  sacred  river;  numerous  troops  of  Greek 


1 6  THE  DEAD  SEA 

pilgrims  from  the  island  of  Cyprus,  upon  asses ;  incon- 
gruous caravans  and  strange  groups  which  we  overtake  or 
meet. 

It  is  soon  midday.  The  high  mountains  of  the  country 
of  Moab  which  lie  beyond  the  Dead  Sea,  and  which  we 
have  seen  ever  since  we  reached  Hebron  like  a  diaphanous 
wall  in  the  east  seem  to  be  as  distant  as  ever,  although  for 
three  hours  we  have  been  advancing  towards  them, — ap- 
parently fleeing  before  us  like  the  visions  of  a  mirage.  But 
they  have  grown  misty  and  gloomy ;  all  that  was  trailing  in 
the  sky  like  light  veils  in  the  morning  has  gathered  and 
condensed  upon  their  peaks,  while  a  purer  and  more  mag- 
nificent blue  now  extends  above  our  heads. 

Half-way  from  Jericho,  we  make  the  great  halt  in  a 
caravansary,  where  there  are  Bedouins,  Syrians,  and  Greeks  ; 
then  we  again  mount  our  horses  beneath  a  burning  sun. 

Every  now  and  then,  in  the  yawning  gulfs  far  below  us 
the  torrent  of  the  Cedron  is  visible  like  a  thread  of  foaming 
silver;  its  course  here  is  not  troubled  as  beneath  the  walls 
of  Jerusalem,  and  it  rushes  along  rapidly  towards  the  Dead 
Sea,  half-hidden  in  the  deepest  hollows  of  the  abysses. 

The  mountain  slopes  continue  to  run  down  towards  this 
strange  and  unique  region,  situated  below  the  level  of  the 
sea,  where  sleep  the  waters  which  produce  death.  It 
seems  that  one  is  made  conscious  of  something  abnormal  in 
this  continuous  descent  by  some  unknown  sense  of  oddity 
and  even  giddiness  suggested  by  these  slopes.  Growing 
more  and  more  grand  and  rugged,  the  country  now  pre- 
sents almost  the  appearance  of  a  true  desert.  But  the 


THE  DEAD  SEA  1 7 

impression  of  immeasurable  solitude  is  not  experienced 
here.  And  then  there  is  always  that  road  traced  by  human 
hands  and  these  continual  meetings  with  horsemen  and 
various  passengers. 

The  air  is  already  dryer  and  warmer  than  at  Jerusalem, 
and  the  light  becomes  more  and  more  magnifying, — as  is 
always  the  case  when  one  approaches  places  devoid  of 
vegetation. 

The  mountains  are  ever  more  and  more  denuded  and 
more  cracked  by  the  dry  ness,  opening  everywhere  with 
crevasses  like  great  abysses.  The  heat  increases  in  pro- 
portion as  we  descend  to  the  shore  of  the  Dead  Sea  which 
in  summer  is  one  of  the  hottest  places  in  the  world.  A 
mournful  sun  darts  its  rays  around  us  upon  the  rocks, 
masses  of  stone,  and  pale  limestone  where  the  lizards  run 
about  by  the  thousand ;  whilst  over  beyond  us,  serving  as 
a  background  for  everything,  stands  ever  the  chain  of  Moab, 
like  a  Dantesque  wall.  And  to-day  storm-clouds  darken 
and  deform  it,  hiding  its  peaks,  or  carrying  them  up  too 
high  into  the  sky  and  forming  other  imaginary  peaks,  thus 
producing  the  terror  of  chaos. 

In  a  certain  deep  valley,  through  which  our  way  lies  for 
a  moment,  shut  in  without  any  view  between  vertical  walls, 
some  hundreds  of  camels  are  at  pasture,  hanging  like  great 
fantastic  goats  to  the  flanks  of  the  mountains, — the  highest 
perched  one  of  all  the  troop  silhouetted  against  the  sky. 

Then  we  issue  from  this  defile  and  the  mountains  of 
Moab  reappear,  higher  then  ever  now  and  more  obscured 
by  clouds.  Upon  this  sombre  background  the  near  pro- 


jg  THE  DEAD  SEA 

spective  of  this  desolate  country  stands  out  very  clearly  ;  the 
summits  are  whitish  and  all  around  us  blocks,  absolutely 
white,  are  delineated  by  the  broiling  sun  with  an  extreme 
hardness  of  outline. 

Towards  three  o'clock,  from  the  elevated  regions  where 
we  still  are,  we  see  before  us  the  country  that  is  lower  than 
the  sea,  and,  as  if  our  eyes  had  preserved  the  remembrance 
of  ordinary  levels,  this  really  seems  not  an  ordinary  plain, 
but  something  too  low  and  a  great  depression  of  the  earth, 
the  bottom  of  a  vast  gulf  into  which  the  road  is  about  to 
fall. 

This  sunken  region  has  the  features  of  the  desert,  with 
gleaming  grey  wastes  like  fields  of  lava,  or  beds  of  salt ;  in 
its  midst  an  unexpectedly  green  patch,  which  is  the  oasis  of 
Jericho, — and  towards  the  south,  a  motionless  expanse  with 
the  polish  of  a  mirror  and  the  sad  hue  of  slate,  which  be- 
gins and  loses  itself  in  the  distance  with  a  limitless  horizon  : 
the  Dead  Sea,  enwrapped  in  darkness  to-day  by  all  the 
clouds  of  the  distance,  by  all  that  is  heavy  and  opaque 
yonder  weighing  upon  the  border  of  Moab. 

The  few  little  white  houses  of  Jericho  are  gradually  out- 
lined in  the  green  of  the  oasis  in  proportion  as  we  descend 
from  our  stony  summits,  inundated  with  the  sun.  One 
would  hardly  call  it  a  village.  It  seems  that  there  is  not 
the  least  vestige  of  the  three  large  and  celebrated  cities  that 
formerly  successively  occupied  this  site  and  that  in  different 
ages  were  called  Jericho.  These  utter  destructions  and 
annihilations  of  the  cities  of  Canaan  and  Idumsea  seem  to 
be  for  the  confounding  of  human  reason.  Truly  a  very 


THE  DEAD  SEA  19 

powerful  breath  of  malediction  and  death  must  have  passed 
over  it  all. 

When  we  are  finally  down  in  the  plain,  an  insufferable 
heat  surprises  us ;  one  would  say  that  we  had  traversed  an 
immense  distance  southward, — and  yet,  in  reality,  we  have 
only  descended  a  few  hundred  metres  towards  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  :  it  is  to  their  depressed  level  that  the  environs  of 
the  Dead  Sea  owe  their  exceptional  climate. 

Jericho  is  composed  to-day  of  a  little  Turkish  citadel, 
three  or  four  new  houses  built  for  pilgrims  and  tourists, 
half  a  hundred  Arab  habitations  of  mud  with  roofing  of 
thorny  branches  and  a  few  Bedouin  tents.  Round  about 
them  are  gardens  in  which  grow  an  occasional  palm ;  a 
wood  of  green  shrubs  traversed  by  clear  brooks ;  some  paths 
overrun  by  grass,  where  horsemen  in  burnous  caracole  upon 
their  horses  with  long  manes  and  tails.  And  that  is  all. 
Immediately  beyond  the  wood  the  uninhabitable  desert  be- 
gins ;  and  the  Dead  Sea  lies  there  very  near,  spreading  its 
mysterious  winding-sheet  above  the  engulfed  kingdoms  of 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  This  Sea  has  a  very  individual  as- 
pect, and  this  evening  it  is  very  funereal;  it  truly  gives  the 
impression  of  death,  with  its  heavy,  leaden,  and  motionless 
waters  between  the  deserts  of  its  two  shores  where  great 
confused  mountains  mingle  with  the  storm-clouds  hanging 
in  the  sky. 

Sunday,  April  8th. 

From  Jericho,  where  we  passed  the  night,  the  Dead  Sea 
seems  very  near ;  one  would  think  in  a  few  minutes  it  would 


20  THE  DEAD  SEA 

be  easy  to  reach  its  tranquil  sheet, — which  this  morning  is 
of  a  blue  barely  tinted  with  slate,  under  a  sky  rid  of  all  of 
yesterday's  clouds.  Yet,  to  reach  it,  almost  two  hours  on 
horseback  are  still  required,  under  a  heavy  sun,  across  the 
little  desert  which,  minus  the  immensity,  resembles  the  large 
one  in  which  we  have  just  spent  so  many  days  ;  towards 
this  Sea,  which  seems  to  flee  in  proportion  as  we  approach, 
we  descend  by  means  of  a  series  of  exhausted  strata  and  des- 
olate plateaux,  all  glittering  with  sand  and  salt.  Here  we 
find  a  few  of  the  odoriferous  plants  of  Arabia  Petraea,  and 
even  the  semblance  of  a  mirage,  the  uncertainty  .as  to  dis- 
tances and  the  continual  tremulousness  of  the  horizon. 
We  also  find  here  a  band  of  Bedouins  resembling  very 
closely  our  friends  of  the  desert  in  their  shirts  with  long 
pointed  sleeves  floating  like  wings,  and  their  little  brown 
veils  tied  to  the  forehead  with  black  cords,  the  two 
ends  of  which  stand  up  on  the  temples  like  the  ears  of  an 
animal.  Moreover,  these  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea,  espe- 
cially on  the  southern  side,  are  frequented  by  pillagers  al- 
most as  much  as  Idumaea. 

We  know  that  geologists  trace  the  existence  of  the  Dead 
Sea  back  to  the  first  ages  of  the  world  ;  they  do  not  contest, 
however,  that  at  the  period  of  the  destruction  of  the  ac- 
cursed cities  it  must  have  suddenly  overflowed,  after  some 
new  eruption,  to  cover  the  site  of  the  Moabite  pentapolis. 
And  it  was  at  that  time  that  was  engulfed  all  this  "  Vale  of 
Siddim,"  where  were  assembled,  against  Chedorlaomer,  the 
kings  of  Sodom,  of  Gomorrah,  of  Admah,  of  Zeboiim,  and 
of  Zoar  (Genesis  xiv.  2,  3)  ;  all  that  "  plain  of  Siddim"  which 


THE  DEAD  SEA  21 

"  was  well  watered  everywhere,"  like  a  garden  of  delight 
(Genesis  xiii.  10).  Since  these  remote  times,  this  Sea  has 
receded  a  little,  without,  however,  its  form  being  sensibly 
changed.  And,  beneath  the  shroud  of  its  heavy  waters, 
unfathomable  to  the  diver  by  their  very  density,  sleep  strange 
ruins,  debris^  which,  without  doubt,  will  never  be  explored  ; 
Sodom  and  Gomorrah  are  there,  buried  in  their  dark 
depths. 

At  present,  the  Dead  Sea,  terminated  at  the  north  by  the 
sands  we  cross,  extends  to  a  length  of  about  eighty  kilo- 
metres, between  two  ranges  of  parallel  mountains :  to  the 
east,  those  of  Moab,  eternally  oozing  bitumen,  which  stand 
this  morning  in  their  sombre  violet ;  to  the  west,  those'  of 
Judea,  of  another  nature,  entirely  of  whitish  limestone,  at 
this  moment  dazzling  with  sunlight.  On  both  shores  the 
desolation  is  equally  absolute ;  the  same  silence  hovers  over 
the  same  appearances  of  death.  These  are  indeed  the  im- 
mutable and  somewhat  terrifying  aspects  of  the  desert, — 
and  one  can  understand  the  very  intense  impression  pro- 
duced upon  travellers  who  do  not  know  the  Arabia  Magna; 
but,  for  us,  there  is  here  only  a  too  greatly  diminished 
image  of  the  mournful  phantasmagoria  of  that  region.  Be- 
sides, one  does  not  lose  altogether  the  view  of  the  citadel 
of  Jericho;  from  our  horses  we  may  still  perceive  it  be- 
hind us,  like  a  vague  little  white  point,  but  still  a  protector. 
In  the  extreme  distance  of  the  desert  sands,  under  the 
trembling  network  of  mirage,  appears  also  an  ancient  for- 
tress, which  is  a  monastery  for  Greek  hermits.  And, 
finally,  another  white  blot,  just  perceptible  above  us,  in  a 


22  THE  DEAD  SEA 

recess  of  the  mountains  of  Judah,  stands  that  mausoleum 
which  passes  for  the  tomb  of  Moses — for  which  a  great 
Mohammedan  pilgrimage  is  soon  about  to  start. 

However,  upon  the  sinister  strand  where  we  arrive,  death 
reveals  itself,  truly  sovereign  and  imposing.  First,  like  a 
line  of  defence  which  it  is  necessary  to  surmount,  comes  a 
belt  of  drift-wood,  branches  and  trees  stripped  of  all  bark, 
almost  petrified  in  the  chemical  bath,  and  whitened  like 
bones, — one  would  call  them  an  accumulation  of  great^ 
vertebrae.  Then  there  are  some  rounded  pebbles  as  on  the 
shore  of  every  sea ;  but  not  a  single  shell,  not  a  piece  of 
seaweed,  not  even  a  little  greenish  slime,  nothing  organic, 
not  even  of  the  lower  order;  and  nowhere  else  has  this 
ever  been  seen,  a  sea  whose  bed  is  as  sterile  as  a  crucible 
of  alchemy ;  this  is  something  abnormal  and  disconcerting. 
Some  dead  fish  lie  here  and  there,  hardened  like  wood, 
mummified  in  the  naptha  and  the  salts  :  fish  of  the  Jor- 
dan which  the  current  brought  here  and  which  the  accursed 
waters  suffocated  instantly. 

And  before  us,  this  sea  flees,  between  its  banks  of  des- 
ert mountains,  to  the  troubled  horizon  with  an  appearance 
of  never  ending.  Its  whitish,  oily  waters  bear  blots  of 
bitumen,  spread  in  large  iridescent  rings.  Moreover,  they 
burn,  if  you  drink  them,  like  a  corrosive  liquor ;  if  you 
enter  them  up  to  your  knees  you  have  difficulty  in  walking, 
they  are  so  heavy  ;  you  cannot  dive  in  them  nor  even 
swim  in  the  ordinary  position,  but  you  can  float  upon  the 
surface  like  a  cork  buoy. 

Once  the  Emperor  Titus,  as  an  experiment,  had  several 


THE  DEAD  SEA  23 

slaves  bound  together  with  iron  chains  and  cast  in,  and  they 
did  not  drown. 

On  the  eastern  shore,  in  the  little  sandy  desert  where  we 
have  just  been  marching  for  two  hours,  a  line  of  a  beauti- 
ful emerald  serpentines;  a  few  flocks  and  a  few  Arabian 
shepherds  that  are  half  bandits  pass  in  the  far  distance. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  day  we  reenter  Jericho, 
whence  we  shall  not  depart  until  to-morrow  morning,  and 
there  remain  the  tranquil  hours  of  the  evening  for  us  to  go 
over  the  still  oasis. 

When  we  are  seated  before  the  porch  of  the  little  inn  of 
Jericho  in  the  warm  twilight,  we  see  a  wildly  galloping 
horse,  bringing  a  monk  in  a  black  robe  with  long  hair 
floating  in  the  wind.  He  is  one  of  the  hermits  of  the 
Mount  of  the  Forty  Days,  who  is  trying  to  be  the  first  to 
arrive  and  offer  us  some  little  objects  in  the  wood  of  Jeri- 
cho and  shell  rosaries  from  the  Jordan. — At  nightfall  others 
come,  dressed  in  the  same  black  robe,  and  with  the  same 
thin  hair  around  their  bandit's  countenance,  and  enter  the 
inn  to  entice  us  with  little  carvings  and  similar  chaplets. 

The  night  is  sultry  here,  and  a  little  heavy,  quite  differ- 
ent to  the  cold  nights  of  Jerusalem,  and  just  as  the  stars 
begin  to  shine  a  conceit  of  frogs  begins  simultaneously 
from  every  side,  under  the  dark  entanglement  of  the  balms 
of  Gilead, — so  continuous  and,  moreover,  so  discreet  is  it, 
that  it  seems  but  another  expression  of  the  tranquil  silence. 
You  hear  also  the  barking  of  the  sheep-dogs,  below,  on  the 
side  of  the  Arabian  encampments ;  then,  very  far  away, 
the  drum  and  the  little  Bedouin  flute  furnish  the  rhythm 


24  THE  DEAD  SEA 

for  some  wild  fete  ; — and,  at  intervals,  but  very  distinctly, 
comes  the  lugubrious  falsetto  of  a  hyena  or  jackal. 

Now,  here  is  the  unexpected  refrain  of  the  coffee-houses 
of  Berlin,  which  suddenly  bursts  forth,  in  ironical  disso- 
nance, in  the  midst  of  these  light  and  immutable  sounds  of 
ancient  evenings  in  Judea :  the  German  tourists  who  have 
been  here  since  sunset,  encamped  under  the  tents  of  agen- 
cies ;  a  band  of  "  Cook's  tourists  "  come  to  see  and  pro- 
fane, as  far  as  they  can,  this  little  desert. 

It  is  after  midnight,  when  everything  is  hushed  and  the 
silence  belongs  to  the  nightingales  which  fill  the  oasis  with 
an  exquisite  and  clear  music  of  crystal. 

Jerusalem  (Paris,  1895). 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

CHARLES  DICKENS 

A  NOBLE  mountain  pass,  with  the  ruins  of  a  fort  on 
a  strong  eminence,  traditionally  called  the  Fort  of 
Fra  Diavolo ;  the  old  town  of  Itri,  like  a  device  in  pastry, 
built  up,  almost  perpendicularly,  on  a  hill,  and  approached 
by  long  steep  flights  of  steps ;  beautiful  Mola  di  Gae'ta, 
whose  wines,  like  those  of  Albano,  have  degenerated  since 
the  days  of  Horace,  or  his  taste  for  wine  was  bad  :  which  is 
not  likely  of  one  who  enjoyed  it  so  much,  and  extolled  it 
so  well ;  another  night  upon  the  road  at  St.  Agatha ;  a  rest 
next  day  at  Capua,  which  is  picturesque,  but  hardly  so  se- 
ductive to  a  traveller  now  as  the  soldiers  of  Praetorian  Rome 
were  wont  to  find  the  ancient  city  of  that  name ;  a  flat  road 
among  vines  festooned  and  looped  from  tree  to  tree ;  and 
Mount  Vesuvius  close  at  hand  at  last ! — its  cone  and  summit 
whitened  with  snow ;  and  its  smoke  hanging  over  it,  in  the 
heavy  atmosphere  of  the  day,  like  a  dense  cloud.  So  we 
go,  rattling  down-hill,  into  Naples. 

Capri — once  made  odious  by  the  deified  beast  Tiberius — 
Ischia,  Procida,  and  the  thousand  distant  beauties  of  the 
Bay,  lie  in  the  blue  sea  yonder,  changing  in  the  mist  and 
sunshine  twenty  times  a  day :  now  close  at  hand,  now  far 
off,  now  unseen.  The  fairest  country  in  the  world  is 


26  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

spread  about  us.  Whether  we  turn  towards  the  Miseno 
shore  of  the  splendid  watery  amphitheatre,  and  go  by  the 
Grotto  of  Posilipo  to  the  Grotto  del  Cane,  and  away  to 
Baiae :  or  take  the  other  way,  towards  Vesuvius  and  Sor- 
rento, it  is  one  succession  of  delights.  In  the  last-named 
direction,  where,  over  doors  and  archways,  there  are  count- 
less little  images  of  San  Gennaro,  with  his  Canute's  hand 
stretched  out  to  check  the  fury  of  the  Burning  Mountain, 
we  are  carried  pleasantly,  by  a  railroad  on  the  beautiful  Sea 
Beach,  past  the  town  of  Torre  del  Greco,  built  upon  the 
ashes  of  the  former  town,  destroyed  by  an  eruption  of  Vesu- 
vius, within  a  hundred  years,  and  past  the  flat-roofed  houses, 
granaries,  and  macaroni  manufactories;  to  Castel-a-Mare, 
with  its  ruined  castle,  now  inhabited  by  fishermen,  standing 
in  the  sea  upon  a  heap  of  rocks.  Here,  the  railroad  termi- 
nates ;  but,  hence  we  may  ride  on,  by  an  unbroken  succes- 
sion of  enchanting  bays,  and  beautiful  scenery,  sloping 
from  the  highest  summit  of  St.  Angelo,  the  highest  neigh- 
bouring mountain,  down  to  the  water's  edge — among  vine- 
yards, olive-trees,  gardens  of  oranges  and  lemons,  orchards, 
heaped-up  rocks,  green  gorges  in  the  hills — and  by  the  bases 
of  snow-covered  heights,  and  through  small  towns  with 
handsome,  dark-haired  women  at  the  doors — and  pass  de- 
licious summer  villas — to  Sorrento,  where  the  poet  Tasso 
drew  his  inspiration  from  the  beauty  surrounding  him. 
Returning,  we  may  climb  the  heights  above  Castel-a-Mare, 
and,  looking  down  among  the  boughs  and  leaves,  see  the 
crisp  water  glistening  in  the  sun,  and  clusters  of  white 
houses  in  distant  Naples,  dwindling,  in  the  great  extent  of 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS  27 

prospect,  down  to  dice.  The  coming  back  to  the  city,  by 
the  beach  again,  at  sunset :  with  the  glowing  sea  on  one 
side,  and  the  darkening  mountain,  with  its  smoke  and 
flame,  upon  the  other,  is  a  sublime  conclusion  to  the  glory 
of  the  day. 

Stand  at  the  bottom  of  the  great  market-place  of  Pompeii, 
and  look  up  the  silent  streets,  through  the  ruined  temples 
of  Jupiter  and  Isis,  over  the  broken  houses  with  their  in- 
most sanctuaries  open  to  the  day,  away  to  Mount  Vesuvius, 
bright  and  snowy  in  the  peaceful  distance;  and  lose  all 
count  of  time,  and  heed  of  other  things,  in  the  strange  and 
melancholy  sensation  of  seeing  the  Destroyed  and  the  De- 
stroyer making  this  quiet  picture  in  the  sun.  Then,  ram- 
ble on,  and  see,  at  every  turn,  the  little  familiar  tokens  of 
human  habitation  and  every-day  pursuits ;  the  chafing  of 
the  bucket  rope  in  the  stone  rim  of  the  exhausted  well ;  the 
track  of  carriage  wheels  in  the  pavement  of  the  street ;  the 
marks  of  drinking  vessels  on  the  stone  counter  of  the  wine- 
shop ;  the  amphorae  in  private  cellars,  stored  away  so  many 
hundred  years  ago,  and  undisturbed  to  this  hour — all  ren- 
dering the  solitude  and  deadly  lonesomeness  of  the  place 
ten  thousand  times  more  solemn,  than  if  the  volcano,  in  its 
fury,  had  swept  the  city  from  the  earth,  and  sunk  it  in  the 
bottom  of  the  sea. 

After  it  was  shaken  by  the  earthquake  which  preceded 
the  eruption,  workmen  were  employed  in  shaping  out,  in 
stone,  new  ornaments  for  temples  and  other  buildings  that 
had  suffered.  Here  lies  their  work,  outside  the  city  gate, 
as  if  they  would  return  to-morrow. 


2g  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

In  the  cellar  of  Diomede's  house,  where  certain  skeletons 
were  found  huddled  together,  close  to  the  door,  the  impres- 
sion of  their  bodies  on  the  ashes  hardened  with  the  ashes, 
and  became  stamped  and  fixed  there,  after  they  had  shrunk, 
inside,  to  scanty  bones.  So,  in  the  theatre  of  Herculaneum, 
a  comic  mask,  floating  on  the  stream  when  it  was  hot  and 
liquid,  stamped  its  mimic  features  in  it  as  it  hardened  into 
stone,  and  now  it  turns  upon  the  stranger  the  fantastic  look 
it  turned  upon  the  audiences  in  that  same  theatre  two  thou- 
sand years  ago. 

Next  to  the  wonder  of  going  up  and  down  the  streets, 
and  in  and  out  of  the  houses,  and  traversing  the  secret 
chambers  of  the  temples  of  a  religion  that  has  vanished 
from  the  earth,  and  finding  so  many  fresh  traces  of  remote 
antiquity  :  as  if  the  course  of  Time  had  been  stopped  after 
this  desolation,  and  there  had  been  no  nights  and  days, 
months,  years,  and  centuries  since :  nothing  is  more  im- 
pressive and  terrible  than  the  many  evidences  of  the  search- 
ing nature  of  the  ashes  as  bespeaking  their  irresistible 
power,  and  the  impossibility  of  escaping  them.  In  the 
wine-cellars,  they  forced  their  way  into  the  earthen  vessels : 
displacing  the  wine,  and  choking  them,  to  the  brim,  with 
dust.  In  the  tombs,  they  forced  the  ashes  of  the  dead  from 
the  funeral  urns,  and  rained  new  ruin  even  into  them.  The 
mouths,  and  eyes,  and  skulls  of  all  the  skeletons  were 
stuffed  with  this  terrible  hail.  In  Herculaneum,  where  the 
flood  was  of  a  different  and  a  heavier  kind,  it  rolled  in,  like 
a  sea.  Imagine  a  deluge  of  water  turned  to  marble,  at  its 
height — and  that  is  what  is  called  "  the  lava  "  here. 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS  29 

Some  workmen  were  digging  the  gloomy  well  on  the 
brink  of  which  we  now  stand,  looking  down,  when  they 
came  on  some  of  the  stone  benches  of  the  theatre — those 
steps  (for  such  they  seem)  at  the  bottom  of  the  excavation 
— and  found  the  buried  city  of  Herculaneum.  Presently 
going  down,  with  lighted  torches,  we  are  perplexed  by  great 
walls  of  monstrous  thickness,  rising  up  between  the  benches, 
shutting  out  the  stage,  obtruding  their  shapeless  forms  in 
absurd  places,  confusing  the  whole  plan,  and  making  it  a 
disordered  dream.  We  cannot,  at  first,  believe,  or  picture 
to  ourselves,  that  THIS  came  rolling  in,  and  drowned  the 
city ;  and  that  all  that  is  not  here  has  been  cut  away,  by 
the  axe,  like  solid  stone.  But  this  perceived  and  under- 
stood, the  horror  and  oppression  of  its  presence  are  inde- 
scribable. 

Many  of  the  paintings  on  the  walls  in  the  roofless  cham- 
bers of  both  cities,  or  carefully  removed  to  the  museum  at 
Naples,  are  as  fresh  and  plain  as  if  they  had  been  executed 
yesterday.  Here  are  subjects  of  still  life,  as  provisions, 
dead  game,  bottles,  glasses,  and  the  like ;  familiar  classical 
stories,  or  mythological  fables,  always  forcibly  and  plainly 
told  ;  conceits  of  cupids,  quarrelling,  sporting,  working  at 
trades ;  theatrical  rehearsals ;  poets  reading  their  produc- 
tions to  their  friends ;  inscriptions  chalked  upon  the  walls ; 
political  squibs,  advertisements,  rough  drawings  by  school- 
boys; everything  to  people  and  restore  the  ancient  cities  in 
the  fancy  of  their  wondering  visitor.  Furniture,  too,  you 
see,  of  every  kind — lamps,  tables,  couches ;  vessels  for 
eating,  drinking,  and  cooking;  workmen's  tools,  surgical 


30  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

instruments,  tickets  for  the  theatre,  pieces  of  money, 
personal  ornaments,  bunches  of  keys  found  clinched  in 
the  grasp  of  skeletons,  helmets  of  guards  and  warriors  ; 
little  household  bells,  yet  musical  with  their  old  domestic 
tones. 

The  least  among  these  objects,  lends  its  aid  to  swell  the 
interests  of  Vesuvius,  and  invest  it  with  a  perfect  fascina- 
tion. The  looking,  from  either  ruined  city,  into  the 
neighbouring  grounds  overgrown  with  beautiful  vines  and 
luxuriant  trees ;  and  remembering  that  house  upon  house, 
temple  on  temple,  building  after  building,  and  street  after 
street,  are  still  lying  underneath  the  roots  of  all  the  quiet 
cultivation,  waiting  to  be  turned  up  to  the  light  of  day ;  is 
something  so  wonderful,  so  full  of  mystery,  so  captivating 
to  the  imagination,  that  one  would  think  it  would  be  para- 
mount, and  yield  to  nothing  else.  To  nothing  but  Ve- 
suvius; but  the  mountain  is  the  genius  of  the  scene. 
From  every  indication  of  the  ruin  it  has  worked,  we  look, 
again,  with  an  absorbing  interest  to  where  its  smoke  is 
rising  up  into  the  sky.  It  is  beyond  us,  as  we  thread  the 
ruined  streets :  above  us,  as  we  stand  upon  the  ruined 
walls;  we  follow  it  through  every  vista  of  broken  columns, 
as  we  wander  through  the  empty  court-yards  of  the  houses ; 
and  through  the  garlandings  and  interlacings  of  every 
wanton  vine.  Turning  away  to  Paestum  yonder,  to  see 
the  awful  structures  built,  the  least  aged  of  them  hundreds 
of  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  and  standing  yet,  erect 
in  lonely  majesty,  upon  the  wild  malaria-blighted  plain — we 
watch  Vesuvius  as  it  disappears  from  the  prospect,  and 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS  31 

watch  for  it  again,  on  our  return,  with  the  same  thrill  of 
interest :  as  the  doom  and  destiny  of  all  this  beautiful 
country,  biding  its  terrible  time. 

It  is  very  warm  in  the  sun,  on  this  early  spring  day, 
when  we  return  from  Paestum,  but  very  cold  in  the  shade : 
insomuch,  that  although  we  may  lunch  pleasantly,  at  noon, 
in  the  open  air,  by  the  gate  of  Pompeii,  the  neighbouring 
rivulet  supplies  thick  ice  for  our  wine.  But,  the  sun  is 
shining  brightly ;  there  is  not  a  cloud  or  speck  of  vapour  in 
the  whole  blue  sky,  looking  down  upon  the  Bay  of  Naples ; 
and  the  moon  will  be  at  the  full  to-night.  No  matter  that 
the  snow  and  ice  lie  thick  upon  the  summit  of  Vesuvius,  or 
that  we  have  been  on  foot  all  day  at  Pompeii,  or  that 
croakers  maintain  that  strangers  should  not  be  on  the 
mountain  by  night,  in  such  an  unusual  season.  Let  us 
take  advantage  of  the  fine  weather;  make  the  best  of  our 
way  to  Resina,  the  little  village  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  prepare  ourselves,  as  well  as  we  can  on  so  short  a 
notice,  at  the  guide's  house ;  ascend  at  once,  and  have  sun- 
set half-way  up,  moonlight  at  the  top,  and  midnight  to 
come  down  in  ! 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  there  is  a  terrible  uproar 
in  the  little  stable-yard  of  Signore  Salvatore,  the  recognized 
head-guide,  with  the  gold  band  around  his  cap;  and  thirty 
under-guides,  who  are  all  scuffling  and  screaming  at  once, 
are  preparing  half-a-dozen  saddled  ponies,  three  litters,  and 
some  stout  staves  for  the  journey.  Every  one  of  the  thirty 
quarrels  with  the  other  twenty-nine,  and  frightens  the  six 
ponies;  and  as  much  of  the  village  as  can  possibly  squeeze 


32  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

itself  into  the  little  stable-yard  participates  in  the  tumult, 
and  gets  trodden  on  by  the  cattle. 

After  much  violent  skirmishing,  and  more  noise  than 
would  suffice  for  the  storming  of  Naples,  the  procession 
starts.  The  head-guide,  who  is  liberally  paid  for  all  the 
attendants,  rides  a  little  in  advance  of  the  party ;  the  other 
thirty  guides  proceed  on  foot.  Eight  go  forward  with  the 
litters  that  are  to  be  used  by  and  by ;  and  the  remaining 
two-and-twenty  beg. 

We  ascend,  gradually,  by  stony  lanes  like  rough  broad 
flights  of  stairs,  for  some  time.  At  length,  we  leave  these, 
and  the  vineyards  on  either  side  of  them,  and  emerge  upon 
a  bleak,  bare  region,  where  the  lava  lies  confusedly  in  enor- 
mous rusty  masses:  as  if  the  earth  had  been  plowed  up 
by  burning  thunder-bolts.  And  now  we  halt  to  see  the  sun 
set.  The  change  that  falls  upon  the  dreary  region,  and  on 
the  whole  mountain,  as  its  red  light  fades,  and  the  night 
comes  on — and  the  unutterable  solemnity  and  dreariness 
that  reign  around,  who  that  has  witnessed  it  can  ever  forget ! 

It  is  dark  when,  after  winding  for  some  time  over  the 
broken  ground,  we  arrive  at  the  foot  of  the  cone :  which  is 
extremely  steep,  and  seems  to  rise,  almost  perpendicularly, 
from  the  spot  where  we  dismount.  The  only  light  is  re- 
flected from  the  snow,  deep,  hard,  and  white,  with  which 
the  cone  is  covered.  It  is  now  intensely  cold,  and  the  air 
is  piercing.  The  thirty-one  have  brought  no  torches, 
knowing  that  the  moon  will  rise  before  we  reach  the  top. 
Two  of  the  litters  are  devoted  to  the  two  ladies ;  the  third, 
to  a  rather  heavy  gentleman  from  Naples,  whose  hospitality 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS  33 

and  good  nature  have  attached  him  to  the  expedition,  and 
determined  him  to  assist  in  doing  the  honours  of  the  moun- 
tain. The  rather  heavy  gentleman  is  carried  by  fifteen 
men ;  each  of  the  ladies  by  half-a-dozen.  We  who  walk 
make  the  best  use  of  our  staves  ;  and  so  the  whole  party 
begin  to  labour  upward  over  the  snow — as  if  they  were 
toiling  to  the  summit  of  an  antediluvian  Twelfth-cake. 

We  are  a  long  time  toiling  up ;  and  the  head-guide  looks 
oddly  about  him  when  one  of  the  company — not  an  Italian, 
though  an  habitue  of  the  mountain  for  many  years :  whom 
we  will  call,  for  our  present  purpose,  Mr.  Pickle  of  Portici 
— suggests  that,  as  it  is  freezing  hard,  and  the  usual  footing 
of  ashes  is  covered  by  the  snow  and  ice,  it  will  surely  be 
difficult  to  descend.  But  the  sight  of  the  litters  above, 
tilting  up  and  down,  and  jerking  from  this  side  to  that,  as 
the  bearers  continually  slip  and  tumble,  diverts  our  atten- 
tion; more  especially  as  the  whole  length  of  the  rather 
heavy  gentleman  is,  at  that  moment,  presented  to  us  alarm- 
ingly foreshortened,  with  his  head  downward. 

The  rising  of  the  moon  soon  afterward,  revives  the  flag- 
ging spirits  of  the  bearers.  Stimulating  each  other  with 
their  usual  watchword,  "  Courage,  friend !  It  is  to  eat 
macaroni ! "  they  press  on,  gallantly,  for  the  summit. 

From  tingeing  the  top  of  the  snow  above  us  with  a  band 
of  light,  and  pouring  it  in  a  stream  through  the  valley  be- 
low, while  we  have  been  ascending  in  the  dark,  the  moon 
soon  lights  the  whole  white  mountain-side,  and  the  broad 
sea  down  below,  and  tiny  Naples  in  the  distance,  and  every 
village  in  the  country  round.  The  whole  prospect  is  in 


34  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

this  lovely  state,  when  we  come  upon  the  platform  on  the 
mountain-top — the  region  of  Fire — an  exhausted  crater 
formed  of  great  masses  of  gigantic  cinders,  like  blocks  of 
stone  from  some  tremendous  waterfall,  burned  up;  from 
every  chink  and  crevice  of  which  hot,  sulphurous  smoke  is 
pouring  out :  while,  from  another  conical-shaped  hill,  the 
present  crater,  rising  abruptly  from  this  platform  at  the  end, 
great  sheets  of  fire  are  streaming  forth  :  reddening  the  night 
with  flame,  blackening  it  with  smoke,  and  spotting  it  with 
red-hot  stones  and  cinders,  that  fly  up  into  the  air  like 
feathers,  and  fall  down  like  lead.  What  words  can  paint 
the  gloom  and  grandeur  of  this  scene  ! 

The  broken  ground ;  the  smoke  ;  the  sense  of  suffocation 
from  the  sulphur;  the  fear  of  falling  down  through  the 
crevices  in  the  yawning  ground ;  the  stopping,  every  now 
and  then,  for  somebody  who  is  missing  in  the  dark  (for  the 
dense  smoke  now  obscures  the  moon) ;  the  intolerable  noise 
of  the  thirty ;  and  the  hoarse  roaring  of  the  mountain ; 
make  it  a  scene  of  such  confusion,  at  the  same  time,  that 
we  reel  again.  But,  dragging  the  ladies  through  it,  and 
across  another  exhausted  crater  to  the  foot  of  the  present 
Volcano,  we  approach  close  to  it  on  the  windy  side,  and 
then  sit  down  among  the  hot  ashes  at  its  foot,  and  look  up 
in  silence ;  faintly  estimating  the  action  that  is  going  on 
within,  from  its  being  full  a  hundred  feet  higher,  at  this 
minute,  than  it  was  six  weeks  ago. 

There  is  something  in  the  fire  and  roar  that  generates  an 
irresistible  desire  to  get  nearer  to  it.  We  cannot  rest  long, 
without  starting  off,  two  of  us,  on  our  hands  and  knees, 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS  35 

accompanied  by  the  head-guide,  to  climb  to  the  brim  of  the 
flaming  crater,  and  try  to  look  in.  Meanwhile,  the  thirty 
yell,  as  with  one  voice,  that  it  is  a  dangerous  proceeding, 
and  call  to  us  to  come  back ;  frightening  the  rest  of  the 
party  out  of  their  wits. 

What  with  their  noise,  and  what  with  the  trembling  of 
the  thin  crust  of  ground,  that  seems  about  to  open  under- 
neath our  feet,  and  plunge  us  into  the  burning  gulf  below 
(which  is  the  real  danger,  if  there  be  any) ;  and  what  with 
the  flashing  of  the  fire  in  our  faces,  and  the  shower  of  red- 
hot  ashes  that  is  raining  down,  and  the  choking  smoke  and 
sulphur ;  we  may  well  feel  giddy  and  irrational,  like  drunken 
men.  But,  we  contrive  to  climb  up  to  the  brim,  and  look 
down,  for  a  moment,  into  the  Hell  of  boiling  fire  below. 
Then,  we  all  three  come  rolling  down ;  blackened,  and 
singed,  and  scorched,  and  hot,  and  giddy  :  and  each  with 
his  dress  alight  in  half-a-dozen  places. 

You  have  read,  a  thousand  times,  that  the  usual  way  of 
descending  is  by  sliding  down  the  ashes :  which,  forming  a 
gradually  increasing  ledge  below  the  feet,  prevent  too  rapid 
a  descent.  But,  when  we  have  crossed  the  two  exhausted 
craters  on  our  way  back,  and  are  come  to  this  precipitous 
place,  there  is  (as  Mr.  Pickle  has  foretold)  no  vestige  of 
ashes  to  be  seen ;  the  whole  being  a  smooth  sheet  of  ice. 

In  this  dilemma,  ten  or  a  dozen  of  the  guides  cautiously 
join  hands,  and  make  a  chain  of  men ;  of  whom  the  fore- 
most beat,  as  well  as  they  can,  a  rough  track  with  their 
sticks,  down  which  we  prepare  to  follow.  The  way  being 
fearfully  steep,  and  none  of  the  party  :  even  of  the  thirty : 


36  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

being  able  to  keep  their  feet  for  six  paces  together,  the 
ladies  are  taken  out  of  their  litters,  and  placed,  each  be- 
tween two  careful  persons  ;  while  others  of  the  thirty  hold 
by  their  skirts,  to  prevent  their  falling  forward — a  necessary 
precaution,  tending  to  the  immediate  and  hopeless  dilapida- 
tion of  their  apparel.  The  rather  heavy  gentleman  is  ad- 
jured to  leave  his  litter  too,  and  be  escorted  in  a  similar 
manner;  but  he  resolves  to  be  brought  down  as  he  was 
brought  up,  on  the  principle  that  his  fifteen  bearers  are  not 
likely  to  tumble  all  at  once,  and  that  he  is  safer  so  than 
trusting  to  his  own  legs. 

In  this  order,  we  begin  the  descent :  sometimes  on  foot, 
sometimes  shuffling  on  the  ice  :  always  proceeding  much 
more  quietly  and  slowly  than  on  our  upward  way  :  and 
constantly  alarmed  by  the  falling  among  us  of  somebody 
from  behind,  who  endangers  the  footing  of  the  whole  party, 
and  clings  pertinaciously  to  anybody's  ankles.  It  is  im- 
possible for  the  litter  to  be  in  advance,  too,  as  the  track  has 
to  be  made ;  and  its  appearance  behind  us,  overhead — with 
some  one  or  other  of  the  bearers  always  down,  and  the 
rather  heavy  gentleman  with  his  legs  in  the  air — is  very 
threatening  and  frightful.  We  have  gone  on  thus;  a  very 
little  way,  painfully  and  anxiously,  but  quite  merrily,  and 
regarding  it  as  a  great  success — and  have  all  fallen  several 
times,  and  have  all  been  stopped,  somehow  or  other,  as  we 
were  sliding  away — when  Mr.  Pickle,  of  Portici,  in  the  act 
of  remarking  on  these  uncommon  circumstances  as  quite 
beyond  his  experience,  stumbles,  falls,  disengages  himself 
with  quick  presence  of  mind,  from  those  about  him,  plunges 


MOUNT  VESUVIUS  37 

away  head  foremost,  and  rolls,  over  and  over,  down  the 
whole  surface  of  the  cone  ! 

Sickening  as  it  is  to  look,  and  be  so  powerless  to  help 
him,  I  see  him  there,  in  the  moonlight — I  have  had  such  a 
dream  often — skimming  over  the  white  ice  like  a  cannon- 
ball.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  there  is  a  cry  from  be- 
hind ;  and  a  man  who  has  carried  a  light  basket  of  spare 
cloaks  on  his  head,  comes  rolling  past  at  the  same  frightful 
speed,  closely  followed  by  a  boy.  At  this  climax  of  the 
chapter  of  accidents,  the  remaining  eight-and-twenty  vocif- 
erate to  that  degree,  that  a  pack  of  wolves  would  be  music 
to  them  ! 

Giddy  and  bloody,  and  a  mere  bundle  of  rags,  is  Pickle 
of  Portici  when  we  reach  the  place  where  we  dismounted, 
and  where  the  horses  are  waiting ;  but,  thank  God,  sound 
in  limb !  And  never  are  we  likely  to  be  more  glad  to  see  a 
man  alive,  and  on  his  feet,  than  to  see  him  now — making 
light  of  it  too,  though  sorely  bruised  and  in  great  pain. 
The  boy  is  brought  into  the  Hermitage  on  the  Mountain, 
while  we  are  at  supper,  with  his  head  tied  up ;  and  the  man 
is  heard  of  some  hours  afterwards.  He,  too,  is  bruised  and 
stunned,  but  has  broken  no  bones ;  the  snow  having,  for- 
tunately, covered  all  the  larger  blocks  of  rock  and  stone, 
and  rendered  them  harmless. 

After  a  cheerful  meal,  and  a  good  rest  before  a  blazing 
fire,  we  again  take  horse,  and  continue  our  descent  to 
Salvatore's  house — very  slowly,  by  reason  of  our  bruised 
friend  being  hardly  able  to  keep  the  saddle,  or  endure  the 
pain  of  motion.  Though  it  is  so  late  at  night,  or  early 


38  MOUNT  VESUVIUS 

in  the  morning,  all  the  people  of  the  village  are  waiting 
about  the  little  stable-yard  when  we  arrive,  and  looking  up 
the  road  by  which  we  are  expected.  Our  appearance  is 
hailed  with  a  great  clamour  of  tongues,  and  a  general  sensa- 
tion, for  which,  in  our  modesty,  we  are  somewhat  at  a  loss 
to  account,  until  turning  into  the  yard,  we  find  that  one  of  a 
party  of  French  gentlemen,  who  were  on  the  mountain  at 
the  same  time,  is  lying  on  some  straw  in  the  stable  with  a 
broken  limb;  looking  like  Death  and  suffering  great  tor- 
ture ;  and  that  we  were  confidently  supposed  to  have  en- 
countered some  worse  accident. 

So  "  well  returned  and  Heaven  be  praised ! "  as  the 
cheerful  Vetturino,  who  has  borne  us  company  all  the  way 
from  Pisa  says  with  all  his  heart !  And  away  with  his 
ready  horses  into  sleeping  Naples  ! 

It  wakes  again  to  Policinelli  and  pickpockets,  buffo 
singers  and  beggars,  rags,  puppets,  flowers,  brightness,  dirt, 
and  universal  degradation ;  airing  its  Harlequin  suit  in  the 
sunshine,  next  day  and  every  day ;  singing,  starving,  danc- 
ing, gaming  on  the  seashore ;  and  leaving  all  labour  to  the 
burning  mountain,  which  is  ever  at  its  work. 

Pictures  from  Italy  (London,  1845). 


THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE 

VICTOR  HUGO 

MY  friend,  what  shall  I  say  to  you  ?  I  have  just 
come  from  seeing  that  strange  thing.  I  am  only 
a  few  steps  from  it.  I  hear  the  noise  of  it.  I  am  writing 
to  you  without  knowing  what  falls  from  my  thoughts. 
Ideas  and  images  accumulate  there  pell-mell,  hastening, 
jostling  and  bruising  each  other,  and  disappearing  in  vapour, 
in  foam,  in  uproar,  and  in  clouds. 

Within  me  there  is  an  immense  ebullition.  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  the  Falls  of  the  Rhine  in  my  brain. 

I  write  at  random,  just  as  it  comes.  You  must  under- 
stand if  you  can. 

You  arrive  at  Laufen.  It  is  a  castle  of  the  Thirteenth 
Century,  a  very  beautiful  pile  and  of  a  very  good  style. 
At  the  door  there  are  two  gilded  wy  verns  with  open  mouths. 
They  are  roaring.  You  would  say  that  they  are  making 
the  mysterious  noise  you  hear. 

You  enter. 

You  are  in  the  courtyard  of  a  castle.  It  is  no  longer  a 
castle,  it  is  a  farm.  Hens,  geese,  turkeys,  dirt;  a  cart  in  a 
corner ;  and  a  vat  of  lime.  A  door  opens.  The  cascade 
appears. 

Marvellous  spectacle ! 

Frightful  tumult  !     That  is   the  first  effect.     Then  you 


40  THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE 

look  about  you.  The  cataract  cuts  out  the  gulfs  which  it 
fills  with  large  white  sheets.  As  in  a  conflagration,  there 
are  some  little  peaceful  spots  in  the  midst  of  this  object  of 
terror ;  groves  blended  with  foam ;  charming  brooks  in  the 
mosses ;  fountains  for  the  Arcadian  Shepherds  of  Poussin, 
shadowed  by  little  boughs  gently  agitated. — And  then  these 
details  vanish,  and  the  impression  of  the  whole  returns  to 
you.  Eternal  tempest !  Snow,  vital  and  furious.  The 
water  is  of  a  strange  transparency.  Some  black  rocks  pro- 
duce sinister  aspects  under  the  water.  They  appear  to 
touch  the  surface  and  are  ten  feet  down.  Below  the  two 
principal  leaps  of  the  falls  two  great  sheaves  of  foam  spread 
themselves  upon  the  river  and  disperse  in  green  clouds. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  I  perceive  a  tranquil  group 
of  little  houses,  where  the  housekeepers  come  and  go. 

As  I  am  observing,  my  guide  tells  me  :  "  Lake  Con- 
stance froze  in  the  winter  of  1829  and  1830.  It  had  not 
frozen  for  a  hundred  and  four  years.  People  crossed  it  in 
carriages.  Poor  people  were  frozen  to  death  in  Schaff- 
hausen." 

I  descended  a  little  lower  towards  the  abyss.  The  sky 
was  grey  and  veiled.  The  cascade  roared  like  a  tiger. 
Frightful  noise,  terrible  rapidity  !  Dust  of  water,  smoke 
and  rain  at  the  same  time.  Through  this  mist  you  see  the 
cataract  in  its  full  development.  Five  large  rocks  cut  it 
into  five  sheets  of  water  of  diverse  aspects  and  different 
sizes.  You  believe  you  see  the  five  worn  piers  of  a  bridge 
of  Titans.  In  the  winter  the  ice  forms  blue  arches  upon 
these  black  abutments. 


THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE  4! 

The  nearest  of  these  rocks  is  of  a  strange  form ;  it  seems 
as  if  the  water  issued  full  of  rage  from  the  hideous  and  im- 
passive head  of  an  Hindu  idol  with  an  elephant's  head. 
Some  trees  and  brambles,  which  intermingle  at  its  summit, 
give  it  bristling  and  horrible  hair. 

At  the  most  awe-inspiring  point  of  the  Falls,  a  great  rock 
disappears  and  reappears  under  the  foam  like  the  skull  of 
an  engulfed  giant,  beaten  for  six  thousand  years  by  this 
dreadful  shower-bath. 

The  guide  continues  his  monologue:  "The  Falls  of 
the  Rhine  are  one  league  from  Schaffhausen.  The  whole 
mass  of  the  river  falls  there  at  a  height  of  seventy  feet." — 

The  rugged  path  which  descends  from  the  castle  of 
Laufen  to  the  abyss  crosses  a  garden.  At  the  moment 
when  I  passed,  deafened  by  the  formidable  cataract,  a  child, 
accustomed  to  living  with  this  marvel  of  the  world,  was 
playing  among  the  flowers. 

This  path  has  several  barriers,  where  you  pay  a  trifle 
from  time  to  time.  The  poor  cataract  should  not  work  for 
nothing.  See  the  trouble  it  gives  !  It  is  very  necessary 
that  with  all  the  foam  that  it  throws  upon  the  trees,  the 
rocks,  the  river,  and  the  clouds,  that  it  should  throw  a  few 
sous  into  the  pocket  of  some  one.  That  is  the  least  it  can 
do. 

I  came  along  this  path  until  I  reached  a  kind  of  balcony 
skilfully  poised  in  reality  right  over  the  abyss. 

There,  everything  moves  you  at  once.  You  are  dazzled, 
made  dizzy,  confused,  terrified,  and  charmed.  You  lean 
on  a  wooden  rail  that  trembles.  Some  yellow  trees, — it  is 


42  THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE 

autumn, — and  some  red  quick-trees  surround  a  little  pa- 
vilion in  the  style  of  the  Cafe  Turc,  from  which  one  ob- 
serves the  horror  of  the  thing.  The  women  cover  them- 
selves with  an  oil-skin  (each  one  costs  a  franc).  You  are 
suddenly  enveloped  in  a  terrible,  thundering  and  heavy 
shower. 

Some  pretty  little  yellow  snails  crawl  voluptuously  over 
this  dew  on  the  rail  of  the  balcony.  The  rock  that  slopes 
beyond  the  balcony  weeps  drop  by  drop  into  the  cascade. 
Upon  this  rock,  which  is  in  the  centre  of  the  cataract,  a 
troubadour-knight  of  painted  wood  stands  leaning  upon  a 
red  shield  with  a  white  cross.  Some  man  certainly  risked 
his  life  to  plant  this  doubtful  ornament  in  the  midst  of 
Jehovah's  grand  and  eternal  poetry. 

The  two  giants,  who  lift  up  their  heads,  I  should  say  the 
two  largest  rocks,  seem  to  speak.  The  thunder  is  their 
voice.  Above  an  alarming  mound  of  foam  you  see  a  peace- 
ful little  house  with  its  little  orchard.  You  would  say  that 
this  terrible  hydra  is  condemned  to  carry  eternally  upon  his 
back  that  sweet  and  happy  cabin. 

I  went  to  the  extremity  of  the  balcony ;  I  leaned  against 
the  rock.  The  sight  became  still  more  terrible.  It  was  a 
frightful  descent  of  water.  The  hideous  and  splendid 
abyss  angrily  throws  a  shower  of  pearls  in  the  face  of  those 
who  dare  to  regard  it  so  near.  That  is  admirable.  The 
four  great  heaps  of  the  cataract  fall,  mount,  and  fall  again 
without  ceasing.  You  would  believe  that  you  were  be- 
holding the  four  lightning-wheels  of  the  storm-chariot. 

The  wooden  bridge  was  laid  under  water.     The  boards 


THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE  43 

were  slippery.  Some  dead  leaves  quivered  under  my  feet. 
In  a  cleft  of  the  rock,  I  noticed  a  little  tuft  of  dried  grass. 
Dry  under  the  cataract  of  Schaffhausen  !  in  this  deluge,  it 
missed  every  drop  of  water !  There  are  some  hearts  that 
may  be  likened  to  this  tuft  of  grass.  In  the  midst  of  a 
vortex  of  human  prosperity,  they  wither  of  themselves. 
Alas !  this  drop  of  water  which  they  have  missed  and 
which  springs  not  forth  from  the  earth  but  falls  from 
heaven,  is  Love  ! 

How  long  did  I  remain  there,  absorbed  in  that  grand 
spectacle  ?  I  could  not  possibly  tell  you.  During  that 
contemplation  the  hours  passed  in  my  spirit  like  the  waves 
in  the  abyss,  without  leaving  a  trace  or  memory. 

However,  some  one  came  to  inform  me  that  the  day  was 
declining.  I  climbed  up  to  the  castle  and  from  there  I  de- 
scended to  the  sandy  shore  whence  you  cross  the  Rhine  to 
gain  the  right  bank.  This  shore  is  below  the  Falls,  and 
you  cross  the  river  at  a  few  fathoms  from  the  cataract. 
To  accomplish  this,  you  risk  yourself  in  a  little  boat, 
charming,  light,  exquisite,  adjusted  like  the  canoe  of  a 
savage,  constructed  of  wood  as  supple  as  the  skin  of  a 
shark,  solid,  elastic,  fibrous,  grazing  the  rocks  every  instant 
and  hardly  escaping — being  managed  like  all  the  small  boats 
of  the  Rhine  and  the  Meuse  with  a  hook  and  an  oar  in  the 
form  of  a  shovel.  Nothing  is  stranger  than  to  feel  in  this 
little  boat  the  deep  and  thunderous  shocks  of  the  water. 

As  the  bark  moved  away  from  the  bank,  I  looked  above 
my  head  at  the  battlements  covered  with  tiles  and  the  sharp 
gable  ends  of  the  chateau  that  dominates  the  precipice. 


44  THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE 

Some  fishermen's  nets  were  drying  up  on  the  stones  on  the 
bank  of  the  river.  Do  they  fish  in  this  vortex  ?  Yes, 
without  doubt.  As  the  fish  cannot  leap  over  the  cataract, 
many  salmon  are  caught  here.  Moreover,  where  is  the 
whirlpool  in  which  man  will  not  fish  ? 

Now  I  will  recapitulate  my  intense  and  almost  poignant 
sensations.  First  impression :  you  do  not  know  what  to 
say,  you  are  crushed  as  by  all  great  poems.  Then  the 
whole  unravels  itself.  The  beauties  disengage  themselves 
from  the  cloud.  Altogether  it  is  grand,  sombre,  terrible, 
hideous,  magnificent,  unutterable. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  the  Falls  are  made  to 
turn  mill-wheels. 

Upon  one  bank,  the  castle ;  upon  the  other,  the  village, 
which  is  called  Neuhausen. 

It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that  each  of  the  great  Alpine 
rivers,  on  leaving  the  mountains,  has  the  colour  of  the  sea 
to  which  it  flows.  The  Rhone,  escaping  from  the  Lake 
of  Geneva,  is  blue  like  the  Mediterranean ;  the  Rhine, 
issuing  from  Lake  Constance,  is  green  like  the  ocean. 

Unfortunately  the  sky  was  overcast.  I  cannot,  there- 
fore, say  that  I  saw  the  Falls  of  Laufen  in  all  their  splen- 
dour. Nothing  is  richer  nor  more  marvellous  than  that 
shower  of  pearls  of  which  I  have  already  told  you.  This 
should  be,  however,  even  more  wonderful  when  the  sun 
changes  these  pearls  to  diamonds  and  when  the  rainbow 
plunges  its  emerald  neck  into  the  foam  like  a  divine  bird 
that  comes  to  drink  in  the  abyss. 

From   the   other  side   of  the   Rhine,  whence   I   am  now 


THE  FALLS  OF  THE  RHINE          45 

writing,  the  cataract  appears  in  its  entirety,  divided  into 
five  very  distinct  parts,  each  of  which  has  its  physiognomy 
quite  apart  from  the  others,  and  forming  a  kind  of  cres- 
cendo. The  first  is  an  overflowing  from  a  mill;  the  sec- 
ond, almost  symmetrically  composed  by  the  work  of  the 
wave  and  time,  is  a  fountain  of  Versailles  ;  the  third,  a  cas- 
cade ;  the  fourth,  an  avalanche ;  and  the  fifth,  chaos. 

A  last  word  and  I  will  close  this  letter.  Several  paces 
from  the  Falls,  you  explore  a  calcareous  rock,  which  is  very 
beautiful.  In  the  midst  of  one  of  the  quarries  that  are 
there  a  galley-slave,  in  stripes  of  grey  and  black,  with  pick- 
axe in  his  hand  and  a  double  chain  on  his  feet,  looked  at 
the  cataract.  Chance  seems  to  delight  itself  sometimes  in 
placing  in  antitheses,  sometimes  sad  and  sometimes  terrible, 
the  work  of  nature  and  the  work  of  society. 

Le  Rbin  (Paris,  1846). 


IN  ARCTIC  SEAS 

LORD  DUFFERIN 

EVER  since  leaving  England,  as  each  four-and-twenty 
hours  we  climbed  up  nearer  to  the  pole,  the  belt  of 
dusk  dividing  day  from  day  had  been  growing  narrower 
and  narrower,  until  having  nearly  reached  the  Arctic  circle, 
this, — the  last  night  we  were  to  traverse, — had  dwindled  to 
a  thread  of  shadow.  Only  another  half-dozen  leagues 
more,  and  we  would  stand  on  the  threshold  of  a  four 
months'  day !  For  the  few  preceding  hours,  clouds  had 
completely  covered  the  heavens,  except  where  a  clear  in- 
terval of  sky,  that  lay  along  the  northern  horizon,  prom- 
ised a  glowing  stage  for  the  sun's  last  obsequies.  But  like 
the  heroes  of  old  he  had  veiled  his  face  to  die,  and  it  was 
not  until  he  dropped  down  to  the  sea  that  the  whole  hemis- 
phere overflowed  with  glory  and  the  gilded  pageant  con- 
certed for  his  funeral  gathered  in  slow  procession  round  his 
grave  ;  reminding  one  of  those  tardy  honours  paid  to  some 
great  prince  of  song,  who — left  during  life  to  languish  in  a 
garret — is  buried  by  nobles  in  Westminster  Abbey.  A 
few  minutes  more  the  last  fiery  segment  had  disappeared 
beneath  the  purple  horizon,  and  all  was  over. 

"  The  king  is  dead — the  king  is  dead — the  king  is  dead  ! 
Long  live  the  king  !  "     And  up  from  the  sea  that  had  just 


IN  ARCTIC  SEAS  47 

entombed  his  sire,  rose  the  young  monarch  of  a  new  day ; 
while  the  courtier  clouds,  in  their  ruby  robes,  turned  faces 
still  aglow  with  the  favours  of  their  dead  lord,  to  borrow 
brighter  blazonry  from  the  smile  of  a  new  master. 

A  fairer  or  a  stranger  spectacle  than  the  last  Arctic  sun- 
set cannot  be  well  conceived.  Evening  and  morning — 
like  kinsmen  whose  hearts  some  baseless  feud  has  kept 
asunder — clasping  hands  across  the  shadow  of  the  vanished 
night. 

You  must  forgive  me  if  sometimes  I  become  a  little  mag- 
niloquent; for  really,  amid  the  grandeur  of  that  fresh  pri- 
maeval world,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  prevent  one's  im- 
agination from  absorbing  a  dash  of  the  local  colouring.  We 
seemed  to  have  suddenly  waked  up  among  the  colossal 
scenery  of  Keats's  Hyperion.  The  pulses  of  young  Titans 
beat  within  our  veins.  Time  itself, — no  longer  frittered 
down  into  paltry  divisions, — had  assumed  a  more  majestic 
aspect.  We  had  the  appetite  of  giants, — was  it  unnatural 
we  should  also  adopt  "  the  large  utterance  of  the  early 
gods " ? 

About  3  A.  M.  it  cleared  up  a  little.  By  breakfast- 
time  the  sun  reappeared,  and  we  could  see  five  or  six  miles 
ahead  of  the  vessel.  It  was  shortly  after  this,  that  as  I  was 
standing  in  the  main  rigging  peering  out  over  the  smooth 
blue  surface  of  the  sea,  a  white  twinkling  point  of  light 
suddenly  caught  my  eye  about  a  couple  of  miles  off  on  the 
port  bow,  which  a  telescope  soon  resolved  into  a  solitary 
isle  of  ice,  dancing  and  dipping  in  the  sunlight.  As  you 
may  suppose,  the  news  brought  everybody  upon  deck ;  and 


4°  IN  ARCTIC  SEAS 

when  almost  immediately  afterwards  a  string  of  other  pieces 
— glittering  like  a  diamond  necklace — hove  in  sight,  the 
excitement  was  extreme. 

Here,  at  all  events,  was  honest  blue  salt  water  frozen 
solid,  and  when — as  we  proceeded — the  scattered  fragments 
thickened,  and  passed  like  silver  argosies  on  either  hand, 
until  at  last  we  found  ourselves  enveloped  in  an  innumerable 
fleet  of  bergs, — it  seemed  as  if  we  could  never  be  weary  of 
admiring  a  sight  so  strange  and  beautiful.  It  was  rather  in 
form  and  colour  than  in  size  that  these  ice  islets  were  re- 
markable; anything  approaching  to  a  real  iceberg  we 
neither  saw,  nor  are  we  likely  to  see.  In  fact,  the  lofty 
ice  mountains  that  wander  like  vagrant  islands  along  the 
coast  of  America,  seldom  or  never  come  to  the  eastward  or 
northward  of  Cape  Farewell.  They  consist  of  land  ice, 
and  are  all  generated  among  the  bays  and  straits  within 
Baffin's  Bay,  and  first  enter  the  Atlantic  a  good  deal  to  the 
southward  of  Iceland  ;  whereas  the  Polar  ice,  among  which 
we  have  been  knocking  about,  is  field  ice,  and — except 
when  packed  one  ledge  above  another,  by  great  pressure — 
is  comparatively  flat.  I  do  not  think  I  saw  any  pieces  that 
were  piled  up  higher  than  thirty  or  thirty-five  feet  above  the 
sea-level,  although  at  a  little  distance  through  the  mist  they 
may  have  loomed  much  loftier. 

In  quaintness  of  form,  and  in  brilliancy  of  colours,  these 
wonderful  masses  surpassed  everything  I  had  imagined ; 
and  we  found  endless  amusement  in  watching  their  fantastic 
procession. 

At   one   time   it  was  a  knight  on  horseback,  clad  in  sap- 


IN  ARCTIC  SEAS  49 

phire  mail,  a  white  plume  above  his  casque.  Or  a  cathe- 
dral window  with  shafts  of  chrysophras,  new  powdered  by 
a  snowstorm.  Or  a  smooth  sheer  cliff  of  lapis  lazuli ;  dr 
a  Banyan  tree,  with  roots  descending  from  its  branches, 
and  a  foliage  as  delicate  as  the  efflorescence  of  molten 
metal ;  or  a  fairy  dragon,  that  breasted  the  water  in  scales 
of  emerald  ;  or  anything  else  that  your  fancy  chose  to  con- 
jure up.  After  a  little  time,  the  mist  again  descended  on 
the  scene,  and  dulled  each  glittering  form  to  a  shapeless 
mass  of  white  ;  while  in  spite  of  all  our  endeavours  to  keep 
upon  our  northerly  course,  we  were  constantly  compelled 
to  turn  and  wind  about  in  every  direction — sometimes 
standing  on  for  several  hours  at  a  stretch  to  the  southward 
and  eastward. 

But  why  should  I  weary  you  with  the  detail  of  our  vari- 
ous manoeuvres  during  the  ensuing  days  ?  they  were  too 
tedious  and  disheartening  at  the  time  for  me  to  look  back 
at  them  with  any  pleasure.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  by  dint 
of  sailing  north  whenever  the  ice  would  permit  us,  and 
sailing  west  when  we  could  not  sail  north, — we  found  our- 
selves on  the  2d  of  August,  in  the  latitude  of  the  southern 
extremity  of  Spitzbergen,  though  divided  from  the  land  by 
about  fifty  miles  of  ice.  All  this  while  the  weather  had 
been  pretty  good,  foggy  and  cold  enough,  but  with  a  fine 
stiff  breeze  that  rattled  us  along  at  a  good  rate  whenever 
we  did  get  a  chance  of  making  any  Northing.  But  lately 
it  had  come  on  to  blow  very  hard,  the  cold  became  quite 
piercing,  and  what  was  worse — in  every  direction  round  the 
whole  circuit  of  the  horizon,  except  along  its  southern  seg- 


50  IN  ARCTIC  SEAS 

ment, — a  blaze  of  iceblink  illuminated  the  sky.  A  more 
discouraging  spectacle  could  not  have  met  our  eyes.  The 
iceblink  is  a  luminous  appearance,  reflected  on  the  heavens 
from  the  fields  of  ice  that  still  lie  sunk  beneath  the  horizon  ; 
it  was  therefore  on  this  occasion  an  unmistakable  indication 
of  the  encumbered  state  of  the  sea  in  front  of  us. 

I  had  turned  in  for  a  few  hours  of  rest,  and  release  from 
the  monotonous  sense  of  disappointment,  and  was  already 
lost  in  a  dream  of  deep  bewildering  bays  of  ice,  and  gulfs 
whose  shifting  shores  offered  to  the  eye  every  possible  com- 
bination of  uncomfortable  scenery,  without  possible  issue> 
— when  "  a  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  "  shouted  "  Land !  " 
and  I  awoke  to  its  reality.  I  need  not  tell  you  in  what  double 
quick  time  I  tumbled  up  the  companion, — or  with  what 
greediness  I  feasted  my  eyes  on  that  longed-for  view, — the 
only  sight — as  I  then  thought — we  were  ever  distined  to 
enjoy  of  the  mountains  of  Spitzbergen  ! 

The  whole  heaven  was  overcast  with  a  dark  mantle  of 
tempestuous  clouds,  that  stretched  down  in  umbrella-like 
points  towards  the  horizon,  leaving  a  clear  space  between 
their  edge  and  the  sea,  illuminated  by  the  sinister  brilliancy 
of  the  iceblink.  In  an  easterly  direction,  this  belt  of  un- 
clouded atmosphere  was  etherealized  to  an  indescribable 
transparency,  and  up  into  it  there  gradually  grew — above 
the  dingy  line  of  starboard  ice — a  forest  of  thin  lilac  peaks, 
so  faint,  so  pale,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  gem-like  dis- 
tinctness of  their  outline,  one  could  have  deemed  them  as 
unsubstantial  as  the  spires  of  fairyland.  The  beautiful  vision 
proved  only  too  transient ;  in  one  short  half  hour  mist  and 


IN  ARCTIC  SEAS  51 

cloud  had  blotted  it  all  out,  while  a  fresh  barrier  of  ice 
compelled  us  to  turn  our  backs  on  the  very  land  we  were 
striving  to  reach. 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  6th  of  August, 
1856,  that  after  having  been  eleven  days  at  sea,  we  came 
to  an  anchor  in  the  silent  haven  of  English  Bay,  Spitzbergen. 

And  now,  how  shall  I  give  you  an  idea  of  the  wonderful 
panorama  in  the  midst  of  which  we  found  ourselves  ?  I 
think,  perhaps,  its  most  striking  feature  was  the  stillness — 
and  deadness — and  impossibility  of  this  new  world  ;  ice,  and 
rock,  and  water  surrounded  us ;  not  a  sound  of  any  kind 
interrupted  the  silence ;  the  sea  did  not  break  upon  the 
shore ;  no  bird  or  any  living  thing  was  visible ;  the  mid- 
night sun — by  this  time  muffled  in  a  transparent  mist — shed 
an  awful,  mysterious  lustre  on  glacier  and  mountain ;  no 
atom  of  vegetation  gave  token  of  the  earth's  vitality ;  an 
universal  numbness  and  dumbness  seemed  to  pervade  the 
solitude.  I  suppose  in  scarcely  any  other  part  of  the  world 
is  this  appearance  of  deadness  so  strikingly  exhibited. 

On  the  stillest  summer  day  in  England,  there  is  always 
perceptible  an  undertone  of  life  thrilling  through  the  atmos- 
phere ;  and  though  no  breeze  should  stir  a  single  leaf,  yet — 
in  default  of  motion — there  is  always  a  sense  of  growth  ; 
but  here  not  so  much  as  a  blade  of  grass  was  to  be  seen,  on 
the  sides  of  the  bald,  excoriated  hills.  Primeval  rocks — 
and  eternal  ice — constitute  the  landscape. 

Letters  from  High  Latitudes  (London,  1859). 


IN  ANTARCTIC  SEAS 

W.  G.  BURN  MURDOCH 

DAYS  such  as  this  are  few  in  a  lifetime,  so  full  of 
interest  has  it  been,  and  so  fatiguing.  Since  early 
morning,  rather  since  yesterday,  for  there  was  no  night  and 
no  morning,  we  have  been  constantly  marvelling  at  most 
astonishing  and  beautiful  spectacles.  We  have  been  bathed 
in  red  blood,  and  for  hours  and  hours  we  have  rowed  in  the 
boats  and  plunged  over  miles  of  soft  snow  dragging  seal- 
skins, and  I  have  been  drawing  hard  in  the  times  between 
the  boat  excursions ;  but  the  air  is  exhilarating,  and  we  feel 
equal  to  almost  any  amount  of  work.  Sun  and  snow- 
showers  alternate — fine  hard  snow  it  is,  that  makes  our 
faces  burn  as  if  before  a  fire.  It  is  very  cold  sketching, 
and  incidents  and  effects  follow  each  other  so  rapidly  that 
there  is  time  to  make  little  more  than  mental  notes. 

Christmas  Eve. 

Those  who  have  felt  the  peace  of  a  summer  night  in 
Norway  or  Iceland,  where  the  day  sleeps  with  wide-open 
eyes,  can  fancy  the  quiet  beauty  of  such  a  night  among  the 
white  floes  of  the  Antarctic. 

To-day  has  passed,  glistering  in  silky  white,  decked 
with  sparkling  jewels  of  blue  and  green,  and  we  thought 
surely  we  had  seen  the  last  of  Nature's  white  harmonies ; 


IN  ANTARCTIC  SEAS  53 

then  evening  came,  pensive  and  soothing  and  grey,  and  all 
the  white  world  changed  into  soft  violet,  pale  yellow,  and 
rose. 

A  dreamy  stillness  fills  the  air.  To  the  south  the  sun 
has  dipped  behind  a  bank  of  pale  grey  cloud,  and  the  sky 
above  is  touched  with  primrose  light.  Far  to  the  north  the 
dark,  smooth  sea  is  bounded  by  two  low  bergs,  that  stretch 
across  the  horizon.  The  nearest  is  cold  violet  white,  and 
the  sunlight  strikes  the  furthest,  making  it  shine  like  a  wall 
of  gold.  The  sky  above  them  is  of  a  leaden  peacock  blue, 
with  rosy  cloudlets  hanging  against  it — such  colouring  as  I 
have  never  before  seen  or  heard  described.  To  the  west- 
ward, across  the  gulf,  we  can  just  distinguish  the  blue-black 
crags  jutting  from  the  snowy  lomonds.  Little  clouds 
touched  with  gold  and  rose  lie  nestling  in  the  black  corries, 
and  gather  round  the  snowy  peaks.  To  the  south,  in  the 
centre  of  the  floe,  some  bergs  lie,  cold  and  grey  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bank  of  cloud.  They  look  like  Greek 
temples  imprisoned  forever  in  a  field  of  snow.  A  faint  cold 
air  comes  stealing  to  us  over  the  floe ;  it  ripples  the  yellow 
sky  reflection  at  the  ice-edge  for  a  moment,  and  falls  away. 
In  the  distance  a  seal  is  barking — a  low  muffled  sound  that 
travels  far  over  the  calm  water,  and  occasionally  a  slight 
splash  breaks  the  silence,  as  a  piece  of  snow  separates  from 
the  field  and  joins  its  companion  pieces  that  are  floating 
quietly  past  our  stern  to  the  north, — a  mysterious,  silent 
procession  of  soft,  white  spirits,  each  perfectly  reflected  in 
the  lavender  sea. 

Nature  sleeps — breathlessly — silent;  perhaps  she  dreams 


54  IN  ANTARCTIC  SEAS 

of  the  spirit-world,  that  seems  to  draw  so  close  to  her  on 
such  a  night. 

By  midnight  the  tired  crew  were  all  below  and  sound 
asleep  in  their  stuffy  bunks.  But  the  doctor  and  I  found 
it  impossible  to  leave  the  quiet  decks  and  the  mysterious 
daylight,  so  we  prowled  about  and  brewed  coffee  in  the  de- 
serted galley.  Then  we  watched  the  sun  pass  behind  the 
grey  bergs  in  the  south  for  a  few  seconds,  and  appear  again, 
refreshed,  with  a  cool  silvery  light.  A  few  flakes  of  snow 
floated  in  the  clear,  cold  air,  and  two  snowy  petrels,  white 
as  the  snow  itself,  flitted  along  the  ice-edge. 

A  cold,  dreamy,  white  Christmas  morning, — beautiful 
beyond  expression. 

From  Edinburgh  to  the  Antarctic — An  Artist's  Notes  and 
Sketches  during  the  Dundee  Antarctic  Expedition  of  1892-3 
(London,  1894). 


THE  DESERT  OF  SAHARA 

EUGENE  FROMENTIN 

THE  Saharans  adore  their  country,1  and,  for  my  part,  I 
should  come  very  near  justifying  a  sentiment  so  im- 
passioned, especially  when  it  is  mingled  with  the  attach- 
ment to  one's  native  soil.  .  .  .  It  is  a  land  without 
grace  or  softness,  but  it  is  severe,  which  is  not  an  evil 
though  its  first  effect  is  to  make  one  serious — an  effect  that 
many  people  confound  with  weariness.  A  great  land  of 
hills  expiring  in  a  still  greater  flat  land  bathed  in  eternal 
light ;  empty  and  desolate  enough,  to  give  the  idea  of  that 
surprising  thing  called  the  desert ;  with  a  sky  almost  always 

1  The  word  Sahara  does  not  necessarily  convey  the  idea  of  a  desert  im- 
mensity. Inhabited  at  certain  points,  it  is  called  Fiafi  ;  habitable  at  cer- 
tain others,  it  takes  the  name  of  Kifar,  a  word  whose  signification  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  common  word  Khela,  abandoned ;  habitable  and  in- 
habited at  yet  other  points,  it  is  called  Falat. 

These  three  words  represent  each  of  the  characteristics  of  the  Sahara. 

Fiafi  is  the  oasis  where  life  retires,  about  the  fountains  and  wells,  under 
the  palms  and  fruit  trees,  sheltered  from  the  sun  and  choub  (simoon). 

Kifar  is  the  sandy  and  void  plain,  which,  however,  when  fertilized  for 
a  moment  by  the  winter  rains,  is  covered  with  grass  (a'  cheb)  in  the  spring; 
and  the  nomadic  tribes  that  ordinarily  camp  around  the  oases  go  thither 
to  pasture  their  flocks. 

Falat,  finally,  is  the  sterile  and  bare  immensity,  the  sea  of  sand,  whose 
eternal  billows,  to-day  agitated  by  the  choub,  to-morrow  will  lie  in  motion- 
less heaps ; — the  sea  that  is  slowly  ploughed  by  those  fleets  called  caravans. 
— General  Daumas,  Le  Sahara  Algkrien. 


56  THE  DESERT    OF  SAHARA 

the  same,  silence,  and  on  all  sides  a  tranquil  horizon.  In 
the  centre  a  kind  of  lost  city,  surrounded  by  solitude ;  then 
a  little  verdure,  sandy  islets,  and,  lastly,  a  few  reefs  of 
whitish  calcareous  stone  or  black  schists  on  the  margin  of 
an  expanse  that  resembles  the  sea ;  — in  all  this,  but  little 
variety,  few  accidents,  few  novelties,  unless  it  be  the  sun 
that  rises  over  the  desert  and  sinks  behind  the  hills,  ever 
calm,  rayless  but  devouring ;  or  perhaps  the  banks  of  sand 
that  have  changed  their  place  and  form  under  the  last  wind 
from  the  South.  Brief  dawns,  longer  noons  that  are  heav- 
ier than  elsewhere,  and  scarcely  any  twilight ;  sometimes  a 
sudden  expansion  of  light  and  warmth  with  burning  winds 
that  momentarily  give  the  landscape  a  menacing  physiog- 
nomy and  that  may  then  produce  crushing  sensations ;  but 
more  usually  a  radiant  immobility,  the  somewhat  mournful 
fixity  of  fine  weather,  in  short,  a  kind  of  impassibility  that 
seems  to  have  fallen  from  the  sky  upon  lifeless  things  and 
from  them  to  have  passed  into  human  faces. 

The  first  impression  received  from  this  ardent  and  inani- 
mate picture,  composed  of  sun,  expanse,  and  solitude,  is 
acute  and  cannot  be  compared  with  any  other.  However, 
little  by  little,  the  eye  grows  accustomed  to  the  grandeur  of 
the  lines,  the  emptiness  of  the  space,  and  the  nakedness  of 
the  earth,  and  if  one  is  still  astonished  at  anything,  it  is  at 
still  remaining  sensible  to  such  slightly  changing  effects 
and  at  being  so  deeply  stirred  by  what  are  in  reality  the 
most  simple  sights. 

Here  the  sky  is  clear,  arid,  and  unchanging ;  it  comes  in 
contact  with  fawn-coloured  or  white  ground,  and  maintains 


THE  DESERT  OF  SAHARA  57 

a  frank  blue  in  its  utmost  extent ;  and  when  it  puts  on 
gold  opposite  the  setting  sun  its  base  is  violet  and  almost 
leaden-hued.  I  have  not  seen  any  beautiful  mirages.  Ex- 
cept during  the  sirocco,  the  horizon  is  always  distinctly 
visible  and  detached  from  the  sky ;  there  is  only  a  final 
streak  of  ash-blue  which  is  vigorously  defined  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  in  the  middle  of  the  day  is  somewhat  confounded 
with  the  sky  and  seems  to  tremble  in  the  fluidity  of  the  at- 
mosphere. Directly  to  the  South,  a  great  way  off  towards 
M'zab,  an  irregular  line  formed  by  groves  of  tamarinds  is 
visible.  A  faint  mirage,  that  is  produced  every  day  in  this 
part  of  the  desert,  makes  these  groves  appear  nearer  and 
larger ;  but  the  illusion  is  not  very  striking  and  one  needs 
to  be  told  in  order  to  notice  it. 

Shortly  after  sunrise  the  whole  country  is  rosy,  a  vivid 
rose,  with  depths  of  peach  colour ;  the  town  is  spotted 
with  points  of  shadow,  and  some  little  white  argils,  scat- 
tered along  the  edge  of  the  palms,  gleam  gaily  enough  in 
this  mournful  landscape  which  for  a  short  moment  of  fresh- 
ness seems  to  smile  at  the  rising  sun.  In  the  air  are  vague 
sounds  and  a  suggestion  of  singing  that  makes  us  under- 
stand that  every  country  in  the  world  has  its  joyous  awak- 
ening. 

Then,  almost  at  the  same  moment  every  day,  from  the 
south  we  hear  the  approach  of  innumerable  twitterings  of 
birds.  They  are  the  gangas  coming  from  the  desert  to 
drink  at  the  springs.  .  .  .  It  is  then  half-past  six. 
One  hour  later  and  the  same  cries  suddenly  arise  in  the 
north ;  the  same  flocks  pass  over  my  head  one  by  one,  in 


58  THE  DESERT  OF  SAHARA 

the  same  numbers  and  order,  and  regain  their  desert  plains. 
One  might  say  that  the  morning  is  ended ;  and  the  sole 
smiling  hour  of  the  day  has  passed  between  the  going  and 
returning  of  the  gangas.  The  landscape  that  was  rose  has 
already  become  dun  ;  the  town  has  far  fewer  little  shad- 
ows ;  it  greys  as  the  sun  gets  higher ;  in  proportion  as  it 
shines  brighter  the  desert  seems  to  darken ;  the  hills  alone 
remain  rosy.  If  there  was  any  wind  it  dies  away ;  warm 
exhalations  begin  to  spread  in  the  air  as  if  they  were  from 
the  sands.  Two  hours  later  all  movement  ceases  at  once, 
and  noontide  commences. 

The  sun  mounts  and  is  finally  directly  over  my  head.  I 
have  only  the  narrow  shelter  of  my  parasol  and  there  I 
gather  myself  together;  my  feet  rest  in  the  sand  or  on 
glittering  stones ;  my  pad  curls  up  beside  me  under  the 
sun  ;  my  box  of  colours  crackles  like  burning  wood.  Not 
a  sound  is  heard  now.  There  are  four  hours  of  incredible 
calm  and  stupor.  The  town  sleeps  below  me  then  dumb 
and  looking  like  a  mass  of  violet  with  its  empty  terraces 
upon  which  the  sun  illumines  a  multitude  of  screens  full 
of  little  rose  apricots,  exposed  there  to  dry  ; — here  and 
there  a  black  hole  marks  a  window,  or  an  interior  door,  and 
fine  lines  of  dark  violet  show  that  there  are  only  one  or 
two  strips  of  shadow  in  the  whole  town.  A  fillet  of 
stronger  light  that  edges  the  contour  of  the  terraces  helps 
us  to  distinguish  these  mud  edifices  from  one  another,  piled 
as  they  are  rather  than  built  upon  their  three  hills. 

On  all  sides  of  the  town  extends  the  oasis,  also  dumb 
and  slumbrous  under  the  heavy  heat  of  the  day.  It  looks 


THE  DESERT  OF  SAHARA  59 

quite  small  and  presses  close  against  the  two  flanks  of  the 
town  with  an  air  of  wanting  to  defend  it  at  need  rather 
than  to  entice  it.  I  can  see  the  whole  of  it :  it  resembles 
two  squares  of  leaves  enveloped  by  a  long  wall  like  a  park, 
roughly  drawn  upon  the  sterile  plain.  Although  divided  by 
compartments  into  a  multitude  of  little  orchards,  also  all 
enclosed  within  walls,  seen  from  this  height  it  looks  like  a 
green  tablecloth  ;  no  tree  is  distinguishable,  two  stages  of 
forest  only  can  be  remarked :  the  first,  round-headed 
clumps ;  the  second,  clusters  of  palms.  At  intervals  some 
meagre  patches  of  barley,  only  the  stubble  of  which  now 
remains,  form  shorn  spaces  of  brilliant  yellow  amid  the 
foliage  ;  elsewhere  in  rare  glades  a  dry,  powdery,  and  ash- 
coloured  ground  shows.  Finally,  on  the  south  side,  a  few 
mounds  of  sand,  heaped  by  the  wind,  have  passed  over  the 
surrounding  wall ;  it  is  the  desert  trying  to  invade  the  gar- 
dens. The  trees  do  not  move ;  in  the  forest  thickets  we 
divine  certain  sombre  gaps  in  which  birds  may  be  supposed 
to  be  hidden,  sleeping  until  their  second  awakening  in  the 
evening. 

This  is  also  the  hour  when  the  desert  is  transformed  into 
an  obscure  plain.  The  sun,  suspended  over  its  centre,  in- 
scribes upon  it  a  circle  of  light  the  equal  rays  of  which  fall 
full  upon  it  in  all  ways  and  everywhere  at  the  same  time. 
There  is  no  longer  any  clearness  or  shadow ;  the  perspec- 
tive indicated  by  the  fleeting  colours  almost  ceases  to  meas- 
ure distances ;  everything  is  covered  with  a  brown  tone, 
continuous  without  streaks  or  mixture ;  there  are  fifteen  or 
twenty  leagues  of  country  as  uniform  and  flat  as  a  flooring. 


6O  THE  DESERT  OF   SAHARA 

It  seems  that  the  most  minute  salient  object  should  be  visi- 
ble upon  it,  and  yet  the  eye  discerns  nothing  there  ;  one 
could  not  even  say  now  where  there  is  sand,  earth,  or  stony 
places,  and  the  immobility  of  this  solid  sea  then  becomes 
more  striking  than  ever.  On  seeing  it  start  at  our  feet  and 
then  stretch  away  and  sink  towards  the  South,  the  East,  and 
the  West  without  any  traced  route  or  inflexion,  we  ask  our- 
selves what  may  be  this  silent  land  clothed  in  a  doubtful 
tone  that  seems  the  colour  of  the  void ;  whence  no  one 
comes,  whither  no  one  goes,  and  which  ends  in  so  straight 
and  clear  a  strip  against  the  sky; — we  do  not  know;  we 
feel  that  it  does  not  end  there  and  that  it  is,  so  to  speak, 
only  the  entrance  to  the  high  sea. 

Then  add  to  all  these  reveries  the  fame  of  the  names  we 
have  seen  upon  the  map,  of  places  that  we  know  to  be  there, 
in  such  or  such  direction,  at  five,  ten,  twenty,  fifty  days' 
march,  some  known,  others  only  indicated  and  yet  others 
more  and  more  obscure.  .  .  .  Then  the  negro  country, 
the  edge  of  which  we  only  know;  two  or  three  names  of 
towns  with  a  capital  for  a  kingdom ;  lakes,  forests,  a  great 
sea  on  the  left,  perhaps  great  rivers,  extraordinary  inclemen- 
cies under  the  equator,  strange  products,  monstrous  animals, 
hairy  sheep,  elephants,  and  what  then  ?  Nothing  more 
distinct;  unknown  distances,  an  uncertainty,  an  enigma. 
Before  me  I  have  the  beginning  of  this  enigma  and  the 
spectacle  is  strange  beneath  this  clear  noonday  sun.  Here 
is  where  I  should  like  to  see  the  Egyptian  Sphinx. 

It  is  vain  to  gaze  around,  far  or  hear;  no  moving  thing 
can  be  distinguished.  Sometimes  by  chance,  a  little  convoy 


THE  DESERT   OF   SAHARA  6 1 

of  laden  camels  appears,  like  a  row  of  blackish  points,  slowly 
mounting  the  sandy  slopes  ;  we  only  perceive  them  when 
they  reach  the  foot  of  the  hills.  They  are  travellers  ;  who 
are  they  ?  whence  come  they  ?  Without  our  perceiving 
them,  they  have  crossed  the  whole  horizon  beneath  our 
eyes.  Or  perhaps  it  is  a  spout  of  sand  which  suddenly  de- 
taches itself  from  the  surface  like  a  fine  smoke,  rises  into  a 
spiral,  traverses  a  certain  space  bending  under  the  wind  and 
then  evaporates  after  a  few  seconds. 

The  day  passes  slowly ;  it  ends  as  it  began  with  half  red- 
nesses, an  amber  sky,  depths  assuming  colour,  long  oblique 
flames  which  will  empurple  the  mountains,  the  sands  and  the 
eastern  rocks  in  their  turn ;  shadows  take  possession  of  that 
side  of  the  land  that  has  been  fatigued  by  the  heat  during  the 
first  half  of  the  day  ;  everything  seems  to  be  somewhat  com- 
forted. The  sparrows  and  turtle-doves  begin  to  sing  among 
the  palms ;  there  is  a  movement  as  of  resurrection  in  the  town ; 
people  show  themselves  on  the  terraces  and  come  to  shake 
the  sieves ;  the  voices  of  animals  are  heard  in  the  squares, 
horses  neighing  as  they  are  taken  to  water  and  camels  bel- 
lowing ;  the  desert  looks  like  a  plate  of  gold  ;  the  sun  sinks 
over  the  violet  mountains  and  the  night  makes  ready  to  fall. 

Un  Ete  dans  le  Sahara  (Paris,  1857). 


FINGAL'S  CAVE 

SIR   WALTER    SCOTT 

July  19,  1810. 

YESTERDAY  we  visited  Staffa  and  lona:  the  for- 
mer is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  places  I  ever 
beheld.  It  exceeded,  in  my  mind,  every  description  I  had 
heard  of  it ;  or  rather,  the  appearance  of  the  cavern,  com- 
posed entirely  of  basaltic  pillars  as  high  as  the  roof  of  a  cathe- 
dral,1 and  the  running  deep  into  the  rock,  eternally  swept 
by  a  deep  and  swelling  sea,  and  paved  as  it  were  with  ruddy 

1  " that  wondrous  dome, 

Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 
By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 
Nature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise, 
A  minster  to  her  Maker's  praise  ! 
Not  for  a  meaner  use  ascend 
Her  columns,  or  her  arches  bend  ; 
Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 
That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells, 
And  still,  beneath  each  awful  pause 
From  the  high  vault  an  answer  draws, 
In  varied  tone  prolonged  and  high 
That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 
Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 
To  old  lona's  holy  fane, 
That  Nature's  voice  might  seem  to  say, 
«  Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  Child  of  clay  ! 
Thy  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 
Task'd  high  and  hard — but  witness  mine !  '  " 

Lord  of  the  hies.     Canto  IV.  St.  IO. 


FINGAL'S  CAVE  63 

marble,  baffles  all  description.  You  can  walk  along  the 
broken  pillars,  with  some  difficulty,  and  in  some  places  with 
a  little  danger,  as  far  as  the  farthest  extremity.  Boats  also 
can  come  in  below  when  the  sea  is  placid, — which  is  sel- 
dom the  case.  I  had  become  a  sort  of  favourite  with  the 
Hebridean  boatmen,  I  suppose  from  my  anxiety  about  their 
old  customs,  and  they  were  much  pleased  to  see  me  get 
over  the  obstacles  which  stopped  some  of  the  party.  So 
they  took  the  whim  of  solemnly  christening  a  great  stone 
at  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  Clachan-an  Bairdh,  or  the 
Poet's  Stone.  It  was  consecrated  with  a  pibroch,  which 
the  echoes  rendered  tremendous,  and  a  glass  of  whisky,  not 
poured  forth  in  the  ancient  mode  of  libation,  but  turned 
over  the  throats  of  the  assistants.  The  head  boatman, 
whose  father  had  been  himself  a  bard,  made  me  a  speech  on 
the  occasion  ;  but  as  it  was  in  Gaelic,  I  could  only  receive 
it  as  a  silly  beauty  does  a  fine-spun  compliment — bow,  and 
say  nothing. 

When  this  fun  was  over  (in  which,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  the  men  were  quite  serious),  we  went  to  lona,  where 
there  are  some  ancient  and  curious  monuments.  From  this 
remote  island  the  light  of  Christianity  shone  forth  on 
Scotland  and  Ireland.  The  ruins  are  of  a  rude  architecture, 
but  curious  to  the  antiquary.  Our  return  was  less  comfort- 
able ;  we  had  to  row  twenty  miles  against  an  Atlantic  tide 
and  some  wind,  besides  the  pleasure  of  seeing  occasional 
squalls  gathering  to  windward.  The  ladies  were  sick, 
especially  poor  Hannah  Mackenzie,  and  none  of  the  gentle- 
men escaped  except  StafFa  and  myself.  The  men,  however, 


64  FINGAL'S  CAVE 

cheered  by  the  pipes,  and  by  their  own  interesting  boat- 
songs,  which  were  uncommonly  wild  and  beautiful,  one 
man  leading  and  the  others  answering  in  chorus,  kept  pull- 
ing away  without  apparently  the  least  sense  of  fatigue,  and 
we  reached  Ulva  at  ten  at  night,  tolerably  wet,  and  well 
disposed  for  bed. 

The  haze  and  dullness  of  the  atmosphere  seem  to  render 
it  dubious  if  we  can  proceed,  as  we  intended,  to  Staffa  to- 
day— for  mist  among  these  islands  is  rather  unpleasant. 
Erskine  reads  prayers  on  deck  to  all  hands,  and  introduces  a 
very  apt  allusion  to  our  being  now  in  sight  of  the  first 
Christian  Church  from  which  Revelation  was  diffused  over 
Scotland  and  all  its  islands.  There  is  a  very  good  form  of 
prayer  for  the  Lighthouse  Service  composed  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Brunton.  A  pleasure  vessel  lies  under  our  lee  from 
Belfast,  with  an  Irish  party  related  to  Macneil  of  Colonsay. 
The  haze  is  fast  degenerating  into  downright  rain,  and  that 
right  heavy — verifying  the  words  of  Collins  — 

.    "  And  thither  where  beneath  the  showery  west 

The  mighty  Kings  of  three  fair  realms  are  laid."  ' 

After  dinner,  the  weather  being  somewhat  cleared,  sailed 
for  Staffa,  and  took  boat.  The  surf  running  heavy  up  be- 
tween the  island  and  the  adjacent  rock,  called  Booshala,  we 
landed  at  a  creek  near  the  Cormorant's  cave.  The  mist 
now  returned  so  thick  as  to  hide  all  view  of  lona,  which 
was  our  landmark ;  and  although  Duff,  Stevenson,  and  I, 
had  been  formerly  on  the  isle,  we  could  not  agree  upon  the 

1  Ode  on  the  Superstitions  of  the  Highlands. 


FINGAL'S  CAVE  65 

proper  road  to  the  cave.  I  engaged  myself,  with  Duff  and 
Erskine,  in  a  clamber  of  great  toil  and  danger,  and  which 
at  length  brought  me  to  the  Cannon-ball,  as  they  call  a  round 
granite  stone  moved  by  the  sea  up  and  down  in  a  groove  of 
rock,  which  it  has  worn  for  itself,  with  a  noise  resembling 
thunder.  Here  I  gave  up  my  research,  and  returned  to  my 
companions,  who  had  not  been  more  fortunate.  As  night 
was  now  falling,  we  resolved  to  go  aboard  and  postpone  the 
adventure  of  the  enchanted  cavern  until  next  day.  The 
yacht  came  to  an  anchor  with  the  purpose  of  remaining  off 
the  island  all  night,  but  the  hardness  of  the  ground,  and  the 
weather  becoming  squally,  obliged  us  to  return  to  our  safer 
mooring  at  Y-Columb-Kill. 

29th  August,  1814.. 

Night  squally  and  rainy — morning  ditto — we  weigh, 
however,  and  return  towards  Staffa,  and,  very  happily,  the 
day  clears  as  we  approach  the  isle.  As  we  ascertained  the 
situation  of  the  cave,  I  shall  only  make  this  memorandum, 
that  when  the  weather  will  serve,  the  best  landing  is  to  the 
lee  of  Booshala,  a  little  conical  islet  or  rock,  composed  of 
basaltic  columns  placed  in  an  oblique  or  sloping  position. 
In  this  way,  you  land  at  once  on  the  flat  causeway,  formed 
by  the  heads  of  truncated  pillars,  which  leads  to  the  cave. 
But  if  the  state  of  tide  renders  it  impossible  to  land  under 
Booshala,  then  take  one  of  the  adjacent  creeks ;  in  which 
case,  keeping  to  the  left  hand  along  the  top  of  the  ledge  of 
rocks  which  girdles  in  the  isle,  you  find  a  dangerous  and 
precipitous  descent  to  the  causeway  aforesaid,  from  the 


66  FINGAL'S   CAVE 

table.  Here  we  were  under  the  necessity  of  towing  our 
Commodore,  Hamilton,  whose  gallant  heart  never  fails 
him,  whatever  the  tenderness  of  his  toes  may  do.  He  was 
successfully  lowered  by  a  rope  down  the  precipice,  and  pro- 
ceeding along  the  flat  terrace  or  causeway  already  men- 
tioned, we  reached  the  celebrated  cave.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  I  was  not  more  affected  by  this  second,  than  by 
the  first  view  of  it.  The  stupendous  columnar  side  walls — 
the  depth  and  strength  of  the  ocean  with  which  the  cavern 
is  filled — the  variety  of  tints  formed  by  stalactites  dropping 
and  petrifying  between  the  pillars,  and  resembling  a  sort  of 
chasing  of  yellow  or  cream-coloured  marble  filling  the 
interstices  of  the  roof — the  corresponding  variety  below, 
where  the  ocean  rolls  over  a  red,  and  in  some  places  a 
violet-coloured  rock,  the  basis  of  the  basaltic  pillars — the 
dreadful  noise  of  those  august  billows  so  well  corresponding 
with  the  grandeur  of  the  scene — are  all  circumstances  else- 
where unparalleled.  We  have  now  seen  in  our  voyage  the 
three  grandest  caverns  in  Scotland, — Smowe,  Macallister's 
Cave,  and  Staffa ;  so  that,  like  the  Troglodytes  of  yore, 
we  may  be  supposed  to  know  something  of  the  matter.  It 
is,  however,  impossible  to  compare  scenes  of  natures  so 
different,  nor,  were  I  compelled  to  assign  a  preference  to 
any  of  the  three,  could  I  do  it  but  with  reference  to  their 
distinct  characters,  which  might  affect  different  individuals 
in  different  degrees.  The  characteristic  of  the  Smowe  cave 
may  in  this  case  be  called  the  terrific,  for  the  difficulties 
which  oppose  the  stranger  are  of  a  nature  so  uncommonly 
wild,  as,  for  the  first  time  at  least,  to  convey  an  impression  of 


FINGAL'S  CAVE  67 

terror — with  which  the  scenes  to  which  he  is  introduced 
fully  correspond.  On  the  other  hand  the  dazzling  white- 
ness of  the  incrustations  in  Macallister's  Cave,  the  elegance 
of  the  entablature,  the  beauty  of  its  limpid  pool,  and  the 
graceful  dignity  of  its  arch,  render  its  leading  features  those 
of  severe  and  chastened  beauty.  Staffa,  the  third  of  these 
subterranean  wonders,  may  challenge  sublimity  as  its  prin- 
cipal characteristic.  Without  the  savage  gloom  of  the 
Smowe  cave,  and  investigated  with  more  apparent  ease, 
though,  perhaps,  with  equal  real  danger,  the  stately  regu- 
larity of  its  columns  forms  a  contrast  to  the  grotesque  im- 
agery of  Macallister's  Cave,  combining  at  once  the  senti- 
ments of  grandeur  and  beauty.  The  former  is,  however, 
predominant,  as  it  must  necessarily  be  in  any  scene  of  the 
kind. 

We   had   scarce   left   Staffa  when  the  wind  and  rain  re- 
turned. 

Lockhart,  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  (Edinburgh,  1878). 


FINGAL'S  CAVE 

JOHN   KEATS 

I  AM  puzzled  how  to  give  you  an  Idea  of  Staffa.  It 
can  only  be  represented  by  a  first-rate  drawing.  One 
may  compare  the  surface  of  the  Island  to  a  roof — this  roof 
is  supported  by  grand  pillars  of  basalt  standing  together  as 
thick  as  honeycombs.  The  finest  thing  is  Fingal's  Cave — 
it  is  entirely  a  hollowing  out  of  Basalt  Pillars.  Suppose 
now  the  Giants  who  rebelled  against  Jove  had  taken  a 
whole  Mass  of  black  Columns  and  bound  them  together 
like  bunches  of  matches — and  then  with  immense  axes  had 

made  a  cavern  in  the  body  of  these  columns Of  course 

the  roof  and  floor  must  be  composed  of  broken  ends  of  the 
Columns — such  is  Fingal's  Cave,  except  that  the  Sea  has 
done  the  work  of  excavations,  and  is  continually  dashing 
there — so  that  we  walk  along  the  sides  of  the  cave  on  the 
pillars  which  are  left  as  if  for  convenient  stairs.  The  roof 
is  arched  somewhat  gothic-wise,  and  the  length  of  some  of 
the  entire  side-pillars  is  fifty  feet.  About  the  island  you 
might  seat  an  army  of  Men  each  on  a  pillar.  The  length 
of  the  cave  is  120  feet,  and  from  its  extremity  the  view 
into  the  sea,  through  the  large  Arch  at  the  entrance — the 
colour  of  the  columns  is  a  sort  of  black  with  a  lurking 
gloom  of  purple  therein.  For  solemnity  and  grandeur  it 


FINGAL'S  CAVE  69 

far  surpasses  the  finest  Cathedral.  At  the  extremity  of  the 
Cave  there  is  a  small  perforation  into  another  cave,  at  which 
the  waters  meeting  and  buffeting  each  other  there  is  some- 
times produced  a  report  as  of  a  cannon  heard  as  far  as  lona, 
which  must  be  twelve  Miles.  As  we  approached  in  the 
boat,  there  was  such  a  fine  swell  of  the  sea  that  the  pillars 
appeared  rising  immediately  out  of  the  crystal.  But  it  is 
impossible  to  describe  it  — 


Not  Aladdin  magian 
Ever  such  a  work  began. 
Not  the  Wizard  of  the  Dee 
Ever  such  a  dream  could  see, 
Not  St.  John  in  Patmos  Isle 
In  the  passion  of  his  toil 
When  he  saw  the  churches  seven 
Golden-aisled  built  up  in  heaven 
Gaz'd  at  such  a  rugged  wonder. 
As  I  stood  its  roofing  under 
Lo !  I  saw  one  sleeping  there 
On  the  marble  cold  and  bare. 
While  the  surges  wash'd  his  feet 
And  his  garments  white  did  beat 
Drench'd  about  the  sombre  rocks, 
On  his  neck  his  well-grown  locks 
Lifted  dry  above  the  Main 
Were  upon  the  curl  again  — 

"  What  is  this  ?  and  what  art  thou  ?  " 
Whisper'd  I,  and  touch'd  his  brow ; 

"  What  art  thou  ?  and  what  is  this  ?  " 
Whisper'd  I,  and  strove  to  kiss 
The,  Spirit's  hand,  to  wake  his  eyes ; 
Up  he  started  in  a  trice  : 

"  I  am  Lycidas,"  said  he 

"  Fam'd  in  funeral  Minstrelsy  — 
This  was  architected  thus 
By  the  great  Oceanus. 


70  FINGAL'S  CAVE 

Here  his  mighty  waters  play 

Hollow  Organs  all  the  day, 

Here,  by  turns,  his  dolphins  all, 

Finny  palmers  great  and  small, 

Come  to  pay  devotion  due  — 

Each  a  mouth  of  pearls  must  strew  ! 

Many  a  mortal  of  these  days 

Dares  to  pass  our  sacred  ways, 

Dares  to  touch,  audaciously 

This  Cathedral  of  the  sea  — 

I  have  been  the  Pontiff-priest, 

Where  the  Waters  never  rest, 

Where  a  fledgy  sea-bird  choir 

Soars  for  ever — holy  fire 

I  have  hid  from  Mortal  Man. 

Proteus  is  my  Sacristan 

But  the  stupid  eye  of  Mortal 

Hath  pass'd  beyond  the  Rocky  portal, 

So  for  ever  will  I  leave 

Such  a  taint  and  soon  unweave 

All  the  magic  of  the  place  — 

'Tis  now  free  to  stupid  face  — 

To  cutters  and  to  fashion  boats, 

To  cravats  and  Petticoats. 

The  great  Sea  shall  war  it  down, 

For  its  fame  shall  not  be  blown 

At  every  farthing  quadrille  dance." 

So  saying  with  a  Spirit's  glance 

He  dived  — 


I  am  sorry  I  am  so  indolent  as  to  write  such  stuff  as  this. 
It  can't  be  helped.  The  western  coast  of  Scotland  is  a 
most  strange  place — it  is  composed  of  rocks,  mountains, 
mountainous  and  rocky  islands  intersected  by  lochs — you 
can  go  but  a  short  distance  anywhere  from  salt  water  in  the 
highlands. 

Letters  of  John  Keats     (London  and  New  York,  1891). 


IN  THE  HIMALAYAS 

G.  W.  STEEVENS 

IN  Calcutta  they  grumbled  that  the  hot  weather  was  be- 
ginning already.  Mornings  were  steamy,  days  sticky, 
and  the  municipal  impurities  rose  rankly.  The  carter 
squatted  over  his  bullocks  with  his  shining  body  stark  naked 
but  for  a  loin-cloth. 

At  Siliguri,  the  bottom  of  the  ascent  to  Darjiling,  the 
rough  grass  and  the  tea-gardens  were  sheeted  at  sunrise  in  a 
silver  frost.  What  few  natives  appeared  happed  their 
heads  in  shawls  as  if  they  had  toothache. 

It  takes  you  an  afternoon  and  a  night  to  get  as  far  as 
Siliguri.  What  you  principally  notice  on  the  way  is  the 
dullness  of  the  flat,  moist  richness  of  Bengal,  and  the  extra- 
ordinary fullness  of  the  first-class  carriages.  Even  at  this 
winter  season  the  residents  of  Calcutta  snatch  at  the  chance 
of  being  cold  for  twenty-four  hours.  When  you  get  out  of 
your  carriage  at  the  junction  station,  you  see  on  the  other 
side  of  the  platform  a  dumpy  little  toy  train — a  train  at  the 
wrong  end  of  a  telescope  with  its  wheels  cut  from  beneath 
it.  Engines  and  trucks  and  carriages  seem  to  be  crawling 
like  snakes  on  their  bellies.  Six  miniature  easy-chairs, 
three  facing  three,  on  an  open  truck  with  an  awning,  make 
a  first-class  carriage. 


72  IN  THE  HIMALAYAS 

This  is  the  Darjiling-Himalaya  Railway — two-foot 
gauge,  climbing  four  feet  to  the  hundred  for  fifty  miles  up 
the  foothills  of  the  greatest  mountains  in  the  world.  It  is 
extraordinary  as  the  only  line  in  India  that  has  been  built 
with  Indian  capital.  But  you  will  find  that  the  least  of  its 
wonders.  A  flat-faced  hillman  bangs  with  a  hammer  twice 
three  times  on  a  spare  bit  of  railway  metal  hung  up  by  way 
of  a  gong,  the  whistle  screams,  and  you  pant  away  on 
surely  the  most  entrancing  railway  journey  in  the  world. 
Nothing  very  much  to  make  your  heart  jump  in  the  first 
seven  miles.  You  bowl  along  the  surface  of  a  slightly  as- 
cending cart-load,  and  your  view  is  mostly  bamboo  and  tea. 
Graceful  enough,  and  cool  to  the  eye — the  bamboos,  hedges 
or  clumps  of  slender  stem  with  plumes  of  pale  leaf  swing- 
ing and  nodding  above  them ;  the  tea,  trim  ranks  and  files 
of  short,  well-furnished  bushes  with  lustrous,  dark-green 
leaves,  not  unlike  evergreens  or  myrtle  in  a  nursery  at 
home, — but  you  soon  feel  that  you  have  known  bamboo 
and  tea  all  your  life.  Then  suddenly  you  begin  to  climb, 
and  all  at  once  you  are  in  a  new  world — a  world  of  plants. 

A  new  world  is  easy  to  say,  but  this  is  new  indeed  and  a 
very  world — such  a  primeval  vegetable  world  as  you  have 
read  of  in  books  and  eked  out  with  dreams.  It  has  every- 
thing you  know  in  your  world,  only  everything  expressed 
in  vegetation.  It  is  a  world  in  its  variety  alone.  Trees  of 
every  kind  rise  up  round  you  at  every  angle — unfamiliar, 
most  of  them,  and  exaggerations  of  forms  you  know,  as  if 
they  were  seen  through  a  microscope.  You  might  come 
on  such  broad  fleshy  leaves  by  way  of  Jack's  giant  bean- 


IN  THE  HIMALAYAS  73 

stalk.  Other  growths  take  the  form  of  bushes  as  high  as 
our  trees  j  but  beside  them  are  skinny,  stunted  starvelings, 
such  as  the  most  niggardly  country  might  show.  Then 
there  are  grasses — rfufted,  ruddy  bamboo  grass,  and  huge 
yellow  straws  with  giant  bents  leaning  insolently  over  to 
flick  your  face  as  you  go  by.  Smaller  still  grow  the  ferns, 
lurking  shyly  in  the  crevices  of  the  banks.  And  over 
everything,  most  luxuriant  of  everything,  crawl  hundred- 
armed  creepers,  knitting  and  knotting  the  whole  jungle  into 
one  mellay  of  struggling  life. 

The  varieties — the  trees  and  shrubs  and  grasses  and 
ferns  and  creepers — you  would  see  in  any  tropical  garden; 
but  you  could  not  see  them  at  home.  You  could  not  see 
them  in  their  unpruned  native  intercourse  one  with  the 
other.  The  rise  and  fall  of  the  ground,  the  whims  of  light 
and  air,  coax  them  into  shapes  that  answer  to  the  most  fan- 
tastic imagination.  Now  you  are  going  through  the  solemn 
aisles  of  a  great  cathedral — grey  trunks  for  columns,  with 
arches  and  vaulted  roofs  of  green,  with  dark,  retreating 
chapels  and  altar-trappings  of  mingled  flowers.  Now  it  is 
a  king's  banqueting-hall,  tapestried  with  white-flowering 
creeper  and  crimson  and  purple  bougainvillea ;  overhead 
the  scarlet-mahogany  blossoms  of  a  sparse-leaved  tulip-tree 
might  be  butterflies  frescoed  on  a  ceiling. 

Fancy  can  compel  the  wilderness  into  moments  of  order, 
but  wild  it  remains.  The  growths  are  not  generally  build- 
ings, but  animate  beings  in  a  real  world.  You  see  no  per- 
fectly shaped  tree,  as  in  a  park  or  garden ;  one  is  warped, 
another  stunted,  another  bare  below — each  formed,  like 


74  IN  THE  HIMALAYAS 

men,  by  the  pressure  of  a  thousand  fellows.  Here  is  a 
corpse  spreading  white,  stark  arms  abroad.  Here  are  half- 
a-dozen  young  creatures  rolling  over  each  other  like  puppies 
at  play.  And  there  is  a  creeper  flinging  tumultuous,  en- 
raptured arms  round  a  stately  tree  ;  presently  it  is  gripping 
it  in  thick  bands  like  Laocoon's  serpent,  then  choking  it 
mercilessly  to  death,  then  dead  itself,  its  bleached,  bare 
streamers  dangling  limply  in  the  wind.  It  is  life,  indeed, 
this  forest — plants  fighting,  victorious  and  vanquished ;  loving 
and  getting  children ;  springing  and  waxing  and  decaying 
and  dying — our  own  world  of  men  translated  into  plants. 

While  I  am  spinning  similitudes,  the  Darjiling-Himalaya 
Railway  is  panting  always  upwards,  boring  through  the 
thick  world  of  trees  like  a  mole.  Now  it  sways  round  a 
curve  so  short  that  you  can  almost  look  back  into  the  next 
carriage,  and  you  understand  why  the  wheels  are  so  low. 
Now  it  stops  dead,  and  almost  before  it  stops  starts  back- 
wards up  a  zigzag,  then  forwards  up  another,  and  on  again. 
In  a  moment  it  is  skating  on  the  brink  of  a  slide  of  shale 
that  trembles  to  come  down  and  overwhelm  it ;  next  it  is 
rumbling  across  a  bridge  above  the  point  it  passed  ten 
minutes  ago,  and  also  that  which  it  will  reach  ten  minutes 
hence.  Twisting,  backing,  circling,  dodging,  but  always 
rising,  it  untreads  the  skein  whose  end  is  in  the  clouds  and 
the  snows. 

Presently  the  little  engine  draws  quite  clear  of  the  jungle. 
You  skirt  opener  slopes,  and  the  blue  plain  below  is  no 
longer  a  fleeting  vista,  but  a  broad  prospect.  You  see  how 
the  forest  spills  itself  on  to  the  fields  and  spreads  into  a  dark 


IN  THE  HIMALAYAS  75 

puddle  over  their  lightness.  You  see  a  great  river  overlay- 
ing the  dimness  with  a  ribbon  of  steel.  The  ferns  grow 
thicker  about  you ;  gigantic  fronds  bow  at  you  from  gullies 
overhead,  and  you  see  the  tree-fern — a  great  crown  of 
drooping  green  on  a  trunk  of  a  man's  height — standing 
superbly  alone,  knowing  its  supreme  gracefulness.  Next, 
as  you  rise  and  rise,  the  air  gets  sharp  j  through  a  gauzy 
veil  of  mist  appear  again  huge  forests,  but  dark  and  gloomy 
with  brown  moss  dripping  dankly  from  every  branch.  Ris- 
ing, rising,  and  you  have  now  come  to  Ghoom,  the  highest 
point.  Amid  the  cold  fog  appears  the  witch  of  Ghoom — 
a  hundred  years  old,  with  a  pointed  chin  and  mop  of  griz- 
zled hair  all  witch-fashion,  but  beaming  genially  and  re- 
questing backsheesh. 

Then  round  a  corner — and  here  is  Darjiling.  A  scat- 
tered settlement  on  a  lofty  ridge,  facing  a  great  cup  en- 
closed by  other  ridges — mountains  elsewhere,  here  hills. 
Long  spurs  run  down  into  the  hollow,  half  black  with  for- 
est, half  pale  and  veined  with  many  paths.  At  the  bottom 
is  a  little  chequer  of  fresh  green  millet ;  the  rim  at  the  top 
seems  to  line  the  sky. 

And  the  Himalayas  and  the  eternal  snows  ?  The  devil 
a  Himalaya  in  sight.  Thick  vapours  dip  down  and  over 
the  very  rim  of  the  cup ;  beyond  Darjiling  is  a  tumult  of 
peaked  creamy  cloud.  You  need  not  be  told  it, — clouds 
that  hide  mountains  always  ape  their  shapes, — the  majestic 
Himalayas  are  behind  that  screen,  and  you  will  not  see 
them  to-day,  nor  perhaps  to-morrow,  nor  yet  for  a  fortnight 
of  to-morrows. 


7  6  IN  THE  HIMALAYAS 

You  must  console  yourself  with  Darjiling  and  the  hill- 
men.  And  Darjiling  is  pleasant  to  the  eye  as  you  look 
down  on  it,  a  huddle  of  grey  corrugated-iron  roofs,  one 
stepping  over  the  other,  hugging  the  hillside  with  one  or 
two  red  ones  to  break  the  monotone.  There  is  no  contin- 
uous line  of  them :  each  stands  by  itself  in  a  ring  of  deep 
green  first.  The  place  is  cool  and  grateful  after  an  Indian 
town — clean  and  roomy,  a  place  of  homes  and  not  of  pens. 

In  the  middle  of  it  is  the  bazaar,  and  my  day,  by  luck, 
was  market-day.  Here,  again,  you  could  never  fancy  your- 
self in  India.  A  few  Hindus  there  are,  but  beside  the 
dumpy  hillmen  their  thin  limbs,  tiny  features,  and  melting 
eyes  seem  hardly  human.  More  like  the  men  you  know  is 
the  Tibetan,  with,  a  long  profile  and  long,  sharp  nose, 
though  his  hat  has  the  turned-up  brim  of  the  Chinese, 
though  he  wears  a  long  bottle-green  dressing-gown  open  to 
the  girdle,  and  his  pigtail  knocks  at  the  back  of  his  knees. 
But  the  prevailing  type,  though  as  Mongolian,  is  far  more 
genial  than  the  Tibetan.  Squat  little  men,  for  the  most 
part,  fill  the  bazaar,  with  broad  faces  that  give  room  for  the 
features,  with  button  noses,  and  slits  for  eyes.  They  wear 
boots  and  putties,  or  gaiters  made  of  many-coloured  carpet- 
bagging  ;  and  their  women  are  like  them — with  shawls  over 
their  heads,  and  broad  sashes  swathing  them  from  bosom  to 
below  the  waist,  with  babies  slung  behind  their  backs,  not 
astride  on  the  hip  as  are  the  spawn  of  India.  Their  eyes 
are  black  as  sloes — puckered,  too,  but  seeming  puckered 
with  laughter ;  and  their  clear  yellow  skins  are  actually 
rosy  on  the  cheeks,  like  a  ripe  apricot.  Square-faced,  long- 


IN  THE  HIMALAYAS  77 

pigtailed,  plump,  cheery,  open  of  gaze,  and  easy  of  carriage, 
rolling  cigarettes,  and  offering  them  to  soothe  babies — they 
might  not  be  beautiful  in  Europe ;  here  they  are  ravishing. 

But  you  come  to  Darjiling  to  see  the  snows.  So  on  a 
night  of  agonizing  cold — feet  and  hands  a  block  of  ice  the 
moment  you  cease  to  move  them — must  follow  a  rise  be- 
fore it  is  light.  Maybe  the  clouds  will  be  kinder  this 
morning.  No ;  the  same  stingy,  clammy  mist, — only  there, 
breaking  through  it,  high  up  in  the  sky — yes,  there  are  a 
few  faint  streaks  of  white.  Just  a  few  marks  of  snow 
scored  on  the  softer  white  of  the  cloud,  chill  with  the  ut- 
terly disconsolate  cold  of  ice  through  a  window  of  fog. 
Still,  there  are  certainly  Himalayas  there. 

Up  and  up  I  toiled ;  the  sun  was  plainly  rising  behind 
the  ridge  of  Darjiling.  In  the  cup  below  the  sunlight  was 
drawing  down  the  hillsides  and  peeling  off  the  twilight. 
Then,  at  a  sudden  turn  of  the  winding  ascent,  I  saw  the  sum- 
mit of  Kinchinjunga.  Just  the  summit,  poised  in  the  blue, 
shining  and  rejoicing  in  the  sunrise.  And  as  I  climbed  and 
climbed,  other  peaks  rose  into  sight  below  and  beside  him, 
all  dazzling  white,  mounting  and  mounting  the  higher  I 
mounted,  every  instant  more  huge  and  towering  and  stately, 
boring  into  the  sky. 

Up — till  I  came  to  the  summit,  and  the  sun  appeared — 
a  golden  ball  swimming  in  a  sea  of  silver.  He  was  sending 
the  clouds  away  curling  before  him ;  .they  drifted  across  the 
mountains,  but  he  pursued  and  smote  and  dissolved  them. 
And  ever  the  mountains  rose  and  rose,  huger  and 
huger;  as  they  swelled  up  they  heaved  the  clouds  away  in 


78  IN  THE  HIMALAYAS 

rolls  off  their  shoulders.  Now  their  waists  were  free,  and 
all  but  their  feet.  Only  a  chasm  of  fog  still  hid  their  lower 
slopes.  Fifty  miles  away,  they  looked  as  if  I  could  toss  a 
stone  across  to  them ;  only  you  could  never  hope  to  hit 
their  heads,  they  towered  so  gigantically.  Now  the  clouds, 
clearing  to  right  and  left,  laid  bare  a  battlemented  range  of 
snow-white  wall  barring  the  whole  horizon.  Behind  these 
appeared  other  peaks ;  it  was  not  a  range,  but  a  country  of 
mountains,  not  now  a  wall,  but  a  four-square  castle  carved 
by  giants  out  of  eternal  ice.  It  was  the  end  of  the  world 
— a  sheer  rampart,  which  forbade  the  fancy  of  anything 
beyond. 

And  in  the  centre,  by  peak  and  col  and  precipice,  the 
prodigy  reared  itself  up  to  Kinchinjunga.  Bare  rock  be- 
low, then  blinding  snow  seamed  with  ridges  of  chimneys, 
and  then,  above,  the  mighty  summit — a  tremendous  three- 
cornered  slab  of  grey  granite  between  two  resplendent 
faces  of  snow.  Other  mountains  tiptoe  at  the  sky  snatch 
at  it  with  a  peak  like  a  needle.  Kinchinjunga  heaves  him- 
self up  into  it,  broadly,  massively,  and  makes  his  summit  a 
diadem.  He  towers  without  effort,  knowing  his  majesty. 
Sublime  and  inviolable,  he  lifts  his  grey  nakedness  and  his 
mail  of  burnished  snow,  and  turns  his  forehead  serenely  to 
sun  and  storm.  Only  their  touch,  of  all  things  created, 
has  perturbed  his  solitude  since  the  birth  of  time. 

In  India  (New  York,  1899). 


NIAGARA  FALLS 

ANTHONY  TROLLOPE 

IT  has  been  said  that  it  matters  much  from  what  point 
the  Falls  are  first  seen,  but  to  this  I  demur.  It  mat- 
ters, I  think,  very  little,  or  not  at  all.  Let  the  visitor  first 
see  it  all,  and  learn  the  whereabouts  of  every  point,  so  as 
to  understand  his  own  position  and  that  of  the  waters ;  and 
then  having  done  that  in  the  way  of  business  let  him  pro- 
ceed to  enjoyment.  I  doubt  whether  it  be  not  the  best  to 
do  this  with  all  sight-seeing.  I  am  quite  sure  that  it  is  the 
way  in  which  acquaintance  may  be  best  and  most  pleas- 
antly made  with  a  new  picture.  The  Falls  are,  as  I  have 
said,  made  by  a  sudden  breach  in  the  level  of  the  river. 
All  cataracts  are,  I  presume,  made  by  such  breaches ;  but 
generally  the  waters  do  not  fall  precipitously  as  they  do  at 
Niagara,  and  never  elsewhere,  as  far  as  the  world  yet 
knows,  has  a  breach  so  sudden  been  made  in  such  a  body 
of  water.  Up  above  the  Falls,  for  more  than  a  mile,  the 
waters  leap  and  burst  over  rapids,  as  though  conscious  of 
the  destiny  that  awaits  them.  Here  the  river  is  very 
broad,  and  comparatively  shallow,  but  from  shore  to  shore 
it  frets  itself  into  little  torrents,  and  begins  to  assume  the 
majesty  of  its  power.  Looking  at  it  even  here,  one  feels 
sure  that  no  strongest  swimmer  could  have  a  chance  of 
saving  himself,  if  fate  had  cast  him  in  even  among  those 


8o  NIAGARA  FALLS 

petty  whirlpools.  The  waters,  though  so  broken  in  their 
descent,  are  deliciously  green.  This  colour  as  seen  early  in 
the  morning,  or  just  as  the  sun  has  set,  is  so  bright  as  to 
give  to  the  place  of  its  chiefest  charms. 

This  will  be  best  seen  from  the  further  end  of  the  island 
—Goat  Island,  as  it  is  called,  which,  as  the  reader  will  un- 
derstand, divides  the  river  immediately  above  the  Falls. 
Indeed  the  island  is  a  part  of  that  precipitously  broken 
ledge  over  which  the  river  tumbles ;  and  no  doubt  in  proc- 
ess of  time  will  be  worn  away  and  covered  with  water. 
The  time,  however,  will  be  very  long.  In  the  meanwhile 
it  is  perhaps  a  mile  round,  and  is  covered  thickly  with  tim- 
ber. At  the  upper  end  of  the  island  the  waters  are  di- 
vided, and  coming  down  in  two  courses,  each  over  .its  own 
rapids,  form  two  separate  falls.  The  bridge  by  which  the 
island  is  entered  is  a  hundred  yards  or  more  above  the 
smaller  fall.  The  waters  here  have  been  turned  by  the  is- 
land, and  make  their  leap  into  the  body  of  the  river  below 
at  a  right  angle  with  it, — about  two  hundred  yards  below 
the  greater  fall.  Taken  alone  this  smaller  cataract  would, 
I  imagine,  be  the  heaviest  fall  of  water  known,  but  taken 
in  conjunction  with  the  other  it  is  terribly  shorn  of  its 
majesty.  The  waters  here  are  not  green  as  they  are  at  the 
larger  cataract,  and  though  the  ledge  has  been  hollowed 
and  bowed  by  them  so  as  to  form  a  curve,  that  curve  does 
not  deepen  itself  into  a  vast  abyss  as  it  does  at  the  horseshoe 
up  above.  This  smaller  fall  is  again  divided,  and  the  visitor 
passing  down  a  flight  of  steps  and  over  a  frail  wooden 
bridge  finds  himself  on  a  smaller  island  in  the  midst  of  it. 


NIAGARA  FALLS. 


NIAGARA  FALLS  8 I 

But  we  will  go  at  once  on  to  the  glory,  and  the  thunder, 
and  the  majesty,  and  the  wrath  of  that  upper  hell  of  wa- 
ters. We  are  still,  let  the  reader  remember,  on  Goat  Is- 
land, still  in  the  States,  and  on  what  is  called  the  American 
side  of  the  main  body  of  the  river.  Advancing  beyond 
the  path  leading  down  to  the  lesser  fall,  we  come  to  that 
point  of  the  island  at  which  the  waters  of  the  main  river 
begin  to  descend.  From  hence  across  to  the  Canadian 
side  the  cataract  continues  itself  in  one  unabated  line. 
But  the  line  is  very  far  from  being  direct  or  straight. 
After  stretching  for  some  little  way  from  the  shore,  to  a 
point  in  the  river  which  is  reached  by  a  wooden  bridge  at 
the  end  of  which  stands  a  tower  upon  the  rock, — after 
stretching  to  this,  the  line  of  the  ledge  bends  inwards 
against  the  flood, — in,  and  in,  and  in,  till  one  is  led  to  think 
that  the  depth  of  that  horseshoe  is  immeasurable.  It  has 
been  cut  with  no  stinting  hand.  A  monstrous  cantle  has 
been  worn  back  out  of  the  centre  of  the  rock,  so  that  the 
fury  of  the  waters  converges,  and  the  spectator  as  he  gazes 
into  the  hollow  with  wishful  eyes  fancies  that  he  can  hardly 
trace  out  the  centre  of  the  abyss. 

Go  down  to  the  end  of  that  wooden  bridge,  seat  your- 
self on  the  rail,  and  there  sit  till  all  the  outer  world  is  lost 
to  you.  There  is  no  grander  spot  about  Niagara  than  this. 
The  waters  are  absolutely  around  you.  If  you  have  that 
power  of  eye-control,  which  is  so  necessary  to  the  full  en- 
joyment of  scenery,  you  will  certainly  see  nothing  but  the 
water.  You  will  certainly  hear  nothing  else;  and  the 
sound,  I  beg  you  to  remember,  is  not  an  ear-cracking, 


82  NIAGARA  FALLS 

agonizing  crash  and  clang  of  noises ;  but  is  melodious  and 
soft  withal,  though  loud  as  thunder.  It  fills  your  ears,  and 
as  it  were  envelops  them,  but  at  the  same  time  you  can 
speak  to  your  neighbour  without  an  effort.  But  at  this 
place,  and  in  these  moments,  the  less  of  speaking  I  should 
say  the  better.  There  is  no  grander  spot  than  this.  Here, 
seated  on  the  rail  of  the  bridge,  you  will  not  see  the 
whole  depth  of  the  fall.  In  looking  at  the  grandest  works 
of  nature,  and  of  art  too,  I  fancy,  it  is  never  well  to  see 
all.  There  should  be  something  left  to  the  imagination, 
and  much  should  be  half-concealed  in  mystery.  The 
greatest  charm  of  a  mountain  range  is  the  wild  feeling  that 
there  must  be  strange  desolate  worlds  in  those  far-off  val- 
leys beyond.  And  so  here,  at  Niagara,  that  converging 
rush  of  waters  may  fall  down,  down  at  once  into  a  hell  of 
rivers  for  what  the  eye  can  see.  It  is  glorious  to  watch 
them  in  their  first  curve  over  the  rocks.  They  come 
green  as  a  bank  of  emeralds ;  but  with  a  fitful  flying  col- 
our, as  though  conscious  that  in  one  moment  more  they 
would  be  dashed  into  spray  and  rise  into  air,  pale  as  driven 
snow.  The  vapour  rises  high  into  the  air,  and  is  gathered 
there,  visible  always  as  a  permanent  white  cloud  over  the 
cataract;  but  the  bulk  of  the  spray  which  fills  the  lower 
hollow  of  that  horseshoe  is  like  a  tumult  of  snow.  This 
you  will  not  fully  see  from  your  seat  on  the  rail.  The 
head  of  it  rises  ever  and  anon  out  of  the  caldron  below, 
but  the  caldron  itself  will  be  invisible.  It  is  ever  so  far 
down, — far  as  your  own  imagination  can  sink  it.  But 
your  eyes  will  rest  full  upon  the  curve  of  the  waters. 


NIAGARA  FALLS  83 

The  shape  you  will  be  looking  at  is  that  of  a  horseshoe, 
but  of  a  horseshoe  miraculously  deep  from  toe  to  heel ; — 
and  this  depth  becomes  greater  as  you  sit  there.  That 
which  at  first  was  only  great  and  beautiful,  becomes  gigan- 
tic and  sublime  till  the  mind  is  at  loss  to  find  an  epithet  for 
its  own  use.  To  realize  Niagara  you  must  sit  there  till 
you  see  nothing  else  than  that  which  you  have  come  to  see. 
You  will  hear  nothing  else,  and  think  of  nothing  else.  At 
length  you  will  be  at  one  with  the  tumbling  river  before  you. 
You  will  find  yourself  among  the  waters  as  though  you  be- 
longed to  them.  The  cool  liquid  green  will  run  through  your 
veins,  and  the  voice  of  the  cataract  will  be  the  expression 
of  your  own  heart.  You  will  fall  as  the  bright  waters  fall, 
rushing  down  into  your  new  world  with  no  hesitation  and 
with  no  dismay ;  and  you  will  rise  again  as  the  spray  rises, 
bright,  beautiful,  and  pure.  Then  you  will  flow  away  in 
your  course  to  the  uncompassed,  distant,  and  eternal  ocean. 
And  now  we  will  cross  the  water,  and  with  this  object 
will  return  by  the  bridge  out  of  Goat  Island  on  the  main- 
land of  the  American  side.  But  as  we  do  so  let  me  say 
that  one  of  the  great  charms  of  Niagara  consists  in  this, — 
that  over  and  above  that  one  great  object  of  wonder  and 
beauty,  there  is  so  much  little  loveliness  ; — loveliness  es- 
pecially of  water,  I  mean.  There  are  little  rivulets  running 
here  and  there  over  little  falls,  with  pendent  boughs  above 
them,  and  stones  shining  under  their  shallow  depths.  As 
the  visitor  stands  and  looks  through  the  trees  the  rapids 
glitter  before  him,  and  then  hide  themselves  behind  islands. 
They  glitter  and  sparkle  in  far  distances  under  the  bright 


84  NIAGARA  FALLS 

foliage  till  the  remembrance  is  lost,  and  one  knows  not 
which  way  they  run. 

Close  to  the  cataract,  exactly  at  the  spot  from  whence  in 
former  days  the  Table  Rock  used  to  project  from  the  land 
over  the  boiling  caldron  below,  there  is  now  a  shaft  down 
which  you  will  descend  to  the  level  of  the  river,  and  pass 
between  the  rock  and  the  torrent.  This  Table  Rock  broke 
away  from  the  cliff  and  fell,  as  up  the  whole  course  of  the 
river  the  seceding  rocks  have  split  and  fallen  from  time  to 
time  through  countless  years,  and  will  continue  to  do  till 
the  bed  of  the  upper  lake  is  reached.  You  will  descend 
this  shaft,  taking  to  yourself  or  not  taking  to  yourself  a  suit 
of  oil-clothes  as  you  may  think  best. 

In  the  spot  to  which  I  allude  the  visitor  stands  on  a 
broad  safe  path,  made  of  shingles,  between  the  rock  over 
which  the  water  rushes.  He  will  go  in  so  far  that  the 
spray  rising  back  from  the  bed  of  the  torrent  does  not  in- 
commode him.  With  this  exception,  the  further  he  can  go 
in  the  better;  but  circumstances  will  clearly  show  him  the 
spot  to  which  he  should  advance.  Unless  the  water  be 
driven  in  by  a  strong  wind,  five  yards  make  the  difference 
between  a  comparatively  dry  coat  and  an  absolutely  wet  one. 
And  then  let  him  stand  with  his  back  to  the  entrance,  thus 
hiding  the  last  glimmer  of  the  expiring  day.  So  standing 
he  will  look  up  among  the  falling  waters,  or  down  into  the 
deep  misty  pit,  from  which  they  reascend  in  almost  as 
palpable  a  bulk.  The  rock  will  be  at  his  right  hand,  high 
and  hard,  and  dark  and  straight,  like  the  wall  of  some  huge 
cavern,  such  as  children  enter  in  their  dreams.  For  the 


NIAGARA  FALLS  85 

first  five  minutes  he  will  be  looking  but  at  the  waters  of  a 
cataract, — at  the  waters,  indeed,  of  such  a  cataract  as  we 
know  no  other,  and  at  their  interior  curves  which  elsewhere 
we  cannot  see.  But  by  and  by  all  this  will  change.  He 
will  no  longer  be  on  a  shingly  path  beneath  a  waterfall ; 
but  that  feeling  of  a  cavern  wall  will  grow  upon  him,  of  a 
cavern  deep,  below  roaring  seas,  in  which  the  waves  are 
there,  though  they  do  not  enter  in  upon  him ;  or  rather  not 
the  waves,  but  the  very  bowels  of  the  ocean.  He  will  feel 
as  though  the  floods  surrounded  him,  coming  and  going 
with  their  wild  sounds,  and  he  will  hardly  recognize  that 
though  among  them  he  is  not  in  them.  And  they,  as  they 
fall  with  a  continual  roar,  not  hurting  the  ear,  but  musical 
withal,  will  seem  to  move  as  the  vast  ocean  waters  may 
perhaps  move  in  their  internal  currents.  He  will  lose  the 
sense  of  one  continued  descent,  and  think  that  they  are 
passing  round  him  in  their  appointed  courses.  The  broken 
spray  that  rises  from  the  depth  below,  rises  so  strongly,  so 
palpably,  so  rapidly,  that  the  motion  in  every  direction  will 
seem  equal.  And,  as  he  looks  on,  strange  colours  will 
show  themselves  through  the  mist  •,  the  shades  of  grey  will 
become  green  or  blue,  with  ever  and  anon  a  flash  of  white ; 
and  then,  when  some  gust  of  wind  blows  in  with  greater 
violence,  the  sea-girt  cavern  will  become  all  dark  and 
black.  Oh,  my  friend,  let  there  be  no  one  there  to  speak 
to  thee  then ;  no,  not  even  a  brother.  As  you  stand  there 
speak  only  to  the  waters. 

North  America  (London,  1862). 


NIAGARA  FALLS 

CHARLES  DICKENS 

WE  called  at  the  town  of  Erie,  at  eight  o'clock  that 
night,  and  lay  there  an  hour.  Between  five  and 
six  next  morning,  we  arrived  at  Buffalo,  where  we  break- 
fasted ;  and  being  too  near  the  Great  Falls  to  wait  patiently 
anywhere  else,  we  set  off  by  the  train,  the  same  morning  at 
nine  o'clock,  to  Niagara. 

•  It  was  a  miserable  day ;  chilly  and  raw ;  a  damp  mist 
falling ;  and  the  trees  in  that  northern  region  quite  bare  and 
wintry.  Whenever  the  train  halted,  I  listened  for  the  roar ; 
and  was  constantly  straining  my  eyes  in  the  direction  where 
I  knew  the  Falls  must  be,  from  seeing  the  river  rolling  on 
towards  them ;  every  moment  expecting  to  behold  the 
spray.  Within  a  few  moments  of  our  stopping,  not  before, 
I  saw  two  great  white  clouds  rising  up  slowly  and  majestic- 
ally from  the  depths  of  the  earth.  That  was  all.  At 
length  we  alighted ;  and  then  for  the  first  time,  I  heard  the 
mighty  rush  of  water,  and  felt  the  ground  tremble  under- 
neath my  feet. 

The  bank  is  very  steep,  and  was  slippery  with  rain,  and 
half-melted  ice.  I  hardly  know  how  I  got  down,  but  I  was 
soon  at  the  bottom,  and  climbing,  with  two  English  officers 
who  were  crossing  and  had  joined  me,  over  some  broken 


NIAGARA  FALLS  87 

rocks,  deafened  by  the  noise,  half-blinded  by  the  spray,  and 
wet  to  the  skin.  We  were  at  the  foot  of  the  American 
Fall.  I  could  see  an  immense  torrent  of  water  tearing 
headlong  down  from  some  great  height,  but  had  no  idea  of 
shape,  or  situation,  or  anything  but  vague  immensity. 

When  we  were  seated  in  the  little  ferry-boat,  and  were 
crossing  the  swollen  river  immediately  before  both  cataracts, 
I  began  to  feel  what  it  was — but  I  was  in  a  manner 
stunned,  and  unable  to  comprehend  the  vastness  of  the 
scene.  It  was  not  until  I  came  on  Table  Rock,  and  looked 
— Great  Heaven,  on  what  a  fall  of  bright  green  water ! — 
that  it  came  upon  me  in  its  full  might  and  majesty. 

Then,  when  I  felt  how  near  to  my  Creator  I  was  stand- 
ing, the  first  effect,  and  the  enduring  one — instant  and  last- 
ing— of  the  tremendous  spectacle,  was  Peace.  Peace  of 
Mind,  tranquillity,  calm  recollections  of  the  Dead,  great 
thoughts  of  Eternal  Rest  and  Happiness  :  nothing  of  gloom 
or  terror.  Niagara  was  at  once  stamped  upon  my  heart, 
an  Image  of  Beauty ;  to  remain  there,  changeless  and  in- 
delible, until  its  pulses  cease  to  beat,  for  ever. 

Oh,  how  the  strife  and  trouble  of  daily  life  receded  from 
my  view,  and  lessened  in  the  distance,  during  the  ten 
memorable  days  we  passed  on  that  Enchanted  Ground  ! 
What  voices  spoke  from  out  the  thundering  water;  what 
faces,  faded  from  the  earth,  looked  out  upon  me  from  its 
gleaming  depths ;  what  Heavenly  promise  glistened  in  those 
angels'  tears,  the  drops  of  many  hues,  that  showered 
around,  and  twined  themselves  about  the  gorgeous  arches 
which  the  changing  rainbows  made  ! 


88  NIAGARA  FALLS 

I  never  stirred  in  all  that  time  from  the  Canadian  side, 
whither  I  had  gone  at  first.  I  never  crossed  the  river 
again ;  for  I  knew  there  were  people  on  the  other  shore, 
and  in  such  a  place  it  is  natural  to  shun  strange  company. 
To  wander  to  and  fro  all  day,  and  see  the  cataracts  from 
all  points  of  view ;  to  stand  upon  the  edge  of  the  great 
Horse-Shoe  Fall,  marking  the  hurried  water  gathering 
strength  as  it  approached  the  verge,  yet  seeming  too,  to 
pause  before  it  shot  into  the  gulf  below ;  to  gaze  from  the 
river's  level  up  at  the  torrent  as  it  came  streaming  down  ; 
to  climb  the  neighbouring  heights  and  watch  it  through  the 
trees,  and  see  the  wreathing  water  in  the  rapids  hurrying  on 
to  take  its  fearful  plunge ;  to  linger  in  the  shadow  of  the 
solemn  rocks  three  miles  below;  watching  the  river  as, 
stirred  by  no  visible  cause,  it  heaved  and  eddied  and  awoke 
the  echoes,  being  troubled  yet,  far  down  beneath  its  surface, 
by  its  giant  leap  ;  to  have  Niagara  before  me,  lighted  by  the 
sun  and  by  the  moon,  red  in  the  day's  decline,  and  grey  as 
evening  slowly  fell  upon  it ;  to  look  upon  it  every  day,  and 
wake  up  in  the  night  and  hear  its  ceaseless  voice :  this  was 
enough. 

I  think  in  every  quiet  season  now,  still  do  those  waters 
roll  and  leap,  and  roar  and  tumble,  all  day  long ;  still  are 
the  rainbows  spanning  them,  a  hundred  feet  below.  Still, 
when  the  sun  rs  on  them,  do  they  shine  and  glow  like 
molten  gold.  Still,  when  the  day  is  gloomy,  do  they  fall 
like  snow,  or  seem  to  crumble  away  like  the  front  of  a 
great  chalk  cliff,  or  roll  down  the  rock  like  dense  white 
smoke.  But  always  does  the  mighty  stream  appear  to  die 


NIAGARA  FALLS  89 

as  it  comes  down,  and  always  from  its  unfathomable  grave 
arises  that  tremendous  ghost  of  spray  and  mist  which  is 
never  laid  :  which  has  haunted  this  place  with  the  same 
dread  solemnity  since  Darkness  brooded  on  the  deep,  and 
that  first  flood  before  the  Deluge — Light — came  rushing  on 
Creation  at  the  word  of  God. 

American  Notes  for  General  Circulation  (London,  1842). 


FUJI-SAN 

SIR  EDWIN  ARNOLD 

I  HAVE  just  made  in  the  company  of  Captain  John 
Ingles,  R.  N.,  Naval  Adviser  to  the  Imperial  Govern- 
ment of  this  country,  and  a  young  Japanese  gentleman — 
Mr.  Asso — a  very  fortunate  and  delightful  ascent  of  Fuji- 
San,  the  famous  mountain — you  would  not  wonder,  residing 
here,  that  everybody  in  Japan  talks  about  Fuji,  and  thinks 
about  her ;  paints  her  on  fans,  and  limns  her  with  gold  on 
lacquer ;  carves  her  on  temple-gates  and  house-fronts,  and 
draws  her  for  curtains  of  shops  and  signboards  of  inns,  rest- 
houses  and  public  institutions.  Living  in  Tokio  or  Yoko- 
hama, or  anywhere  along  this  Tokaido — the  Southern  road 
of  Japan — you  would  soon  perceive  how  the  great  volcano 
dominates  every  landscape,  asserts  perpetually  her  sover- 
eignty over  all  other  hills  and  mountains,  and  becomes  in 
reality  as  well  as  imagination,  an  indispensable  element  in 
the  national  scenery.  Far  away  at  sea,  when  approaching 
Japan,  if  the  weather  be  clear,  long  before  the  faintest  blue 
line  of  coast  is  discernible  from  the  deck,  there  is  seen 
hanging  in  the  air  a  dim  white  symmetrical  cone,  too  con- 
stant for  a  cloud,  which  is  Fuji-San.  After  you  have 
landed  and  taken  up  your  residence  in  Yokohama,  Tokio, 
or  any  point  of  the  southeastern  littoral,  you  will  be  always 


FUJI-SAN  91 

seeing  Fuji-Yama  from  some  garden-nook,  some  tea-house 
gallery,  some  grove  of  cryptomerias,  or  thicket  of  bamboo, 
or  even  from  the  railway-carriage  window.  In  the  spring 
and  autumn,  as  frequently  as  not,  she  will,  indeed,  be 
shrouded  in  the  dense  masses  of  white  or  grey  cumulus 
which  her  crest  collects,  and  seems  to  create  in  the  mists 
of  the  Pacific.  But  during  summer,  when  the  snows  are 
all  melted  from  the  vast  cone,  and  again  in  winter,  when 
she  is  covered  with  snow  half-way  down  her  colossal  sides, 
but  the  air  is  clear,  the  superb  mountain  stands  forth,  dawn 
after  dawn,  and  evening  after  evening — like  no  other  em- 
inence in  the  world  for  beauty,  majesty,  and  perfectness  of 
outline.  There  are  loftier  peaks,  of  course,  for  Fuji-San  is 
not  much  higher  than  Mont  Blanc,  but  there  is  none — not 
even  Etna — which  rises  so  proudly  alone,  isolated,  distinct, 
from  the  very  brink  of  the  sea — with  nothing  to  hide  or 
diminish  the  dignity  of  the  splendid  and  immense  curves 
sweeping  up  from  where  the  broad  foot  rests,  planted  on 
the  Suruga  Gulf,  to  where  the  imperial  head  soars,  lifted 
high  above  the  clouds  into  the  blue  of  the  firmament.  By 
many  and  many  a  picture  or  photograph  you  must  know 
well  those  almost  perfectly  matched  flanks,  that  massive 
base,  the  towering  lines  of  that  mighty  cone,  slightly 
truncated  and  dentated  at  the  summit.  But  no  picture 
gives,  and  no  artist  could  ever  reproduce,  the  variety  and 
charm  of  the  aspect  which  Fuji-San  puts  on  from  day  to 
day  and  hour  to  hour  under  the  differing  influences  of  air 
and  weather.  Sometimes  it  is  as  a  white  cloud  that  you 
see  her,  among  the  white  clouds,  changeless  among  the 


92  FUJI-SAN 

changeful  shapes  from  which  she  emerges.  Sometimes 
there  will  break  forth,  high  above  all  clouds,  a  patch  of 
deep  grey  against  the  blue,  the  broad  head  of  Fuji.  Some- 
times you  will  only  know  where  she  sits  by  the  immense 
collection  of  cirrus  and  cirro-cumulus  there  alone  gathered 
in  the  sky ;  and  sometimes — principally  at  dawn  and  night- 
fall— she  will  suddenly  manifest  herself,  from  her  foot, 
jewelled  with  rich  harvests,  to  her  brow,  bare  and  lonely  as 
a  desert — all  violet  against  the  gold  of  the  setting  sun,  or 
else  all  gold  and  green  against  the  rose  and  silver  of  the 
daybreak. 

As  late  as  the  Fourteenth  Century  Fuji  was  constantly 
smoking,  and  fire  is  spoken  of  with  the  eruptions,  the  last 
of  which  took  place  in  December,  1707,  and  continued  for 
nearly  forty  days.  The  Ho-Yei-san,  or  hump  in  the  south 
face,  was  probably  then  formed.  In  this,  her  final  out- 
break, Fuji  covered  Tokio  itself,  sixty  miles  away,  with  six 
inches  of  ash,  and  sent  rivers  of  lava  far  and  wide.  Since 
then  she  has  slept,  and  only  one  little  spot  underneath 
the  Kwan-nom-Gatake,  on  the  lip  of  the  crater,  where 
steam  exhales,  and  the  red  pumice-cracks  are  hot,  shows 
that  the  heart  of  this  huge  volcano  yet  glows,  and  that  she 
is  capable  of  destroying  again  her  own  beauty  and  the 
forests  and  rich  regions  of  fertility  which  clothe  her  knees 
and  feet. 

It  is  a  circuit  of  120  miles  to  go  all  round  the  base  of 
Fuji-San.  If  you  could  cut  a  tunnel  through  her  from 
Yoshiwara  to  Kawaguchi,  it  would  be  forty  miles  long. 
Generally  speaking,  the  lower  portion  of  the  mountain  is 


FUJI-SAN  93 

cultivated  to  a  height  of  1,500  feet,  and  it  is  a  whole  prov- 
ince which  thus  climbs  round  her.  From  the  border  of 
the  farms  there  begins  a  rough  and  wild,  but  flowery  moor- 
land, which  stretches  round  the  hill  to  an  elevation  of  4,000 
feet,  where  there  the  thick  forest-belt  commences.  This 
girdles  the  volcano  up  to  7,000  feet  on  the  Subashiri  side 
and  8,000  on  the  Murayama  fall,  but  is  lower  to  the  east- 
ward. Above  the  forest  extends  a  narrow  zone  of  thicket 
and  bush,  chiefly  dwarfed  larch,  juniper  and  a.  vaccinium ; 
after  which  comes  the  bare,  burnt,  and  terribly  majestic  peak 
itself,  where  the  only  living  thing  is  a  little  yellow  lichen 
which  grows  in  the  fissures  of  the  lava  blocks,  for  no  eagle 
or  hawk  ventures  so  high,  and  the  boldest  or  most  bewil- 
dered butterfly  will  not  be  seen  above  the  bushes  half-way 
down. 

The  best — indeed,  the  only — time  for  the  ascent  of  the 
mountain  is  between  July  I5th  and  September  5th.  Dur- 
ing this  brief  season  the  snow  will  be  melted  from  the  cone, 
the  huts  upon  the  path  will  be  opened  for  pilgrims,  and 
there  will  be  only  the  danger  of  getting  caught  by  a  typhoon, 
or  reaching  the  summit  to  find  it  swathed  day  after  day  in 
clouds,  and  no  view  obtainable.  Our  party  of  three  started 
for  the  ascent  on  August  25th,  taking  that  one  of  the  many 
roads  by  which  Fuji  is  approached  that  goes  by  Subashiri. 
Such  an  expedition  may  be  divided  into  a  series  of  stages. 
You  have  first  to  approach  the  foot  of  the  mountain  by 
train  or  otherwise,  then  to  ride  through  the  long  slope  of 
cultivated  region.  Then,  abandoning  horses  or  vehicles,  to 
traverse  on  foot  the  sharper  slopes  of  the  forest  belt.  At 


94  FUJI-SAN 

the  confines  of  this  you  will  reach  the  first  station,  called 
Sho  or  Go ;  for  Japanese  fancy  has  likened  the  mountain  to 
a  heap  of  dry  rice  and  the  stations  are  named  by  rice-meas- 
ure. From  the  first  station  to  the  ninth,  whatever  road 
you  take,  all  will  be  hard,  hot,  continuous  climbing.  You 
must  go  by  narrow,  bad  paths,  such  as  a  goat  might  make, 
in  loose  volcanic  dust,  gritty  pumice,  or  over  the  sharp 
edges  of  lava  dykes,  which  cut  boots  and  sandals  to 
shreds. 

At  daybreak  the  horses  are  brought,  and  the  six  coolies, 
two  by  two,  bind  upon  their  backs  the  futons  and  the  food. 
We  start,  a  long  procession,  through  a  broad  avenue  in  the 
forest,  riding  for  five  miles,  under  a  lovely  dawn,  the  sun 
shining  gloriously  on  the  forehead  of  Fuji,  who  seems 
further  off"  and  more  immensely  lofty  the  nearer  we  approach. 
The  woodland  is  full  of  wild  strawberries  and  flowers  ;  in- 
cluding tiger-lilies,  clematis,  Canterbury  bells,  and  the  blue 
hotari-no  hana,  or  fire-fly  blossom.  At  6:30  A.  M.,  we 
reach  Uma-Gayeshi,  or  "  turn-the-horses-back"  ;  and  hence 
to  the  mountain  top  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  walk 
every  step  of  the  long,  steep,  and  difficult  path.  Two  of 
the  men  with  the  lightest  loads  led  the  way  along  the  nar- 
row path,  in  a  wood  so  thick  that  we  shall  not  see  Fuji 
again  till  we  have  passed  through  it.  It  takes  us  every 
now  and  then  through  the  gates  and  precincts  of  little  Shinto 
temples,  where  the  priests  offer  us  tea  or  mountain  water. 
In  one  of  them,  at  Ko-mitake,  we  are  invited  to  ring  the 
brass  gong  in  order  that  the  Deity  may  make  our  limbs 
strong  for  the  task  before  us.  And  this  is  solemnly  done 


FUJI-SAN  95 

by  all  hands,  the  ninsoku  slapping  their  brown  thighs  piously 
after  sounding  the  bell. 

The  shortest  time  in  which  the  ascent  has  been  made  is 
six  hours  and  a  half.  We,  taking  it  more  easily,  made  no 
attempt  to  beat  the  record,  and  stopped  frequently  to  botan- 
ize, geologize,  etc.  The  rarefaction  of  the  air  gave  our 
Japanese  companion,  Takaji  San,  a  slight  headache,  which 
soon  passed  as  the  circulation  became  accustomed  to  the  at- 
mosphere ;  but  Captain  Ingles  and  I,  being  I  suppose,  both  in 
excellent  health  and  strength,  experienced  no  inconvenience 
worth  mentioning. 

At  half-past  four  next  morning,  while  I  was  dreaming 
under  my  thick  coverings,  a  hand  touched  me  and  a  voice 
said  softly,  "  Danna  Sama,  hi  no  de  !  "  "  Master,  here  is 
the  sun !  "  The  shoji  at  my  feet  were  thrown  open.  I 
looked  out,  almost  as  you  might  from  the  moon,  over  a 
prodigious  abyss  of  space,  beyond  which  the  eastern  rim  of 
all  the  world  seemed  to  be  on  fire  with  flaming  light.  A 
belt  of  splendid  rose  and  gold  illumined  all  the  horizon, 
darting  long  spears  of  glory  into  the  dark  sky  overhead, 
gilding  the  tops  of  a  thousand  hills,  scattered  over  the  purple 
plains  below,  and  casting  on  the  unbroken  background  of 
clouds  beyond  an  enormous  shadow  of  Fuji.  The  spectacle 
was  of  unparalleled  splendour,  recalling  Lord  Tennyson's 
line  — 

"  And,  in  the  East, 
God  made  himself  an  awful  Rose  of  Dawn." 

Moment  by  moment  it  grew  more  wonderful  in  loveliness  of 
colour  and  brilliant   birth   of  day  ;  and  then,  suddenly,  just 


96  FUJI-SAN 

when  the  sun  rolled  into  sight — an  orb  of  gleaming  gold, 
flooding  the  world  beneath  with  almost  insufferable  radiance 
— a  vast  mass  of  dense  white  clouds  swept  before  the  north 
wind  over  the  view,  completely  blotting  out  the  sun,  the 
belt  of  rose  and  gold,  the  lighted  mountains  and  plains,  and 
the  lower  regions  of  Fuji-San.  It  was  day  again,  but  misty, 
white,  and  doubtful ;  and  when  we  started  to  climb  the  last 
two  stages  of  the  cone  the  flags  of  the  stations  were  invis- 
ible, and  we  could  not  know  whether  we  should  find  the 
summit  clear,  or  wrapped  in  enveloping  clouds. 

All  was  to  be  fortunate,  however,  on  this  happy  day ; 
and  after  a  hard  clambering  of  the  remaining  2,000  feet  we 
planted  our  staffs  victoriously  on  the  level  ground  of  the 
crater's  lip  and  gazed  north,  south,  east,  and  west  through 
clear  and  cloudless  atmosphere  over  a  prodigious  prospect, 
whose  diameter  could  not  be  less  than  300  miles.  It  was 
one  of  the  few  days  when  O-ana-mochi,  the  Lord  of  the 
Great  Hole,  was  wholly  propitious  !  Behind  the  long  row 
of  little  black  huts  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  mountain, 
gaped  that  awful,  deadly  Cup  of  the  Volcano — an  immense 
pit  half  a  mile  wide  and  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  deep,  its 
sides  black,  yellow,  red,  white,  and  grey,  with  the  varying 
hues  of  the  lava  and  scoriae.  In  one  spot  where  a  perpet- 
ual shadow  lay,  from  the  ridge-peaks  of  Ken-ga-mine  and 
the  Shaka-no-wari-ishi,  or  "  Cleft  Rock  of  Buddha," 
gleamed  a  large  patch  of  unmelted  snow,  and  there  was 
dust-covered  snow  at  the  bottom  of  the  crater.  We  skirted 
part  of  the  crater,  passed  by  the  dangerous  path  which  is 
styled  "  Oya-shirazu,  Ko-shirazu,"  "  The  place  where  you 


FUJI-SAN  97 

must  forget  parents  and  children,  to  take  care  of  yourself;" 
saw  the  issue  of  the  Kim-mei-sai  or  "  Golden  famous 
water,"  and  of  the  Gim-mei-sai,  or  "  Silver  famous  water  "  ; 
and  came  back  to  breakfast  at  our  hut  silent  with  the  de- 
light and  glory,  the  beauty  and  terror  of  the  scene.  Enor- 
mous flocks  of  fleecy  clouds  and  cloudlets  wandered  in  the 
lower  air,  many  thousand  feet  beneath,  but  nowhere  con- 
cealed the  lakes,  peaks,  rivers,  towns,  villages,  valleys,  sea- 
coasts,  islands,  and  distant  provinces  spreading  out  all 
round.  Imagine  the  prospect  obtainable  at  13,000  feet  of 
elevation  through  the  silvery  air  of  Japan  on  a  summer's 
morning  with  not  a  cloud,  except  shifting,  thin,  and  transi- 
tory ones,  to  veil  the  view  ! 

At  the  temple  with  the  bell  we  were  duly  stamped — 
shirts,  sticks,  and  clothing — with  the  sacred  mark  of  the 
mountain,  and  having  made  the  hearts  of  our  faithful  and 
patient  ninsoku  glad  with  extra  pay,  turned  our  backs  on  the 
great  extinct  volcano,  whose  crest,  glowing  again  in  the 
morning  sunlight,  had  no  longer  any  secrets  for  Captain 
Ingles,  or  Takaji  San,  or  myself. 

Seas  and  Lands  (New  York,  1891). 


THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON 

ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE 

THE  Sheik  of  Eden,  the  last  inhabited  village  towards 
the  summit  of  Lebanon,  was  the  maternal  uncle 
of  M.  Mazoyer,  my  interpreter.  Informed  by  his  nephew 
of  our  arrival  in  Tripoli,  the  venerable  sheik  descended  the 
mountain  with  his  eldest  son  and  a  portion  of  his  retinue ; 
he  came  to  visit  me  at  the  convent  of  the  Franciscans,  and 
offered  me  hospitality  at  his  home  in  Eden.  From  Eden 
to  the  Cedars  of  Solomon  it  is  only  a  three  hours'  march  ; 
and  if  the  snows  that  cover  the  mountains  will  permit  us, 
we  can  visit  these  ancient  trees  that  have  spread  their  glory 
over  all  Lebanon  and  that  are  contemporaries  of  the  great 
king ;  we  accepted,  and  the  start  was  arranged  for  the 
following  day. 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  were  on  horseback. 
The  caravan,  more  numerous  than  usual,  was  preceded 
by  the  Sheik  of  Eden,  an  admirable  old  man  whose  elegance 
of  manner,  noble  and  easy  politeness,  and  magnificent  cos- 
tume were  far  from  suggesting  an  Arab  chieftain ;  one 
would  have  called  him  a  patriarch  marching  at  the  head  of 
his  tribe ;  he  rode  upon  a  mare  of  the  desert  whose  golden- 
bay  skin  and  floating  mane  would  have  made  a  worthy 
mount  for  a  hero  of  Jerusalem  ;  his  son  and  his  principal 


THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON  99 

attendants  caracoled  upon  magnificent  stallions,  a  few  paces 
before  him ;  we  came  next,  and  then  the  long  file  of  our 
moukres  and  our  Sai's. 

The  sheik  has  sent  three  Arabs  over  the  route  to  the 
Cedars  to  learn  if  the  snow  will  permit  us  to  approach 
those  trees  ;  the  Arabs  returning  say  that  access  is  imprac- 
ticable ;  there  are  fourteen  feet  of  snow  in  a  narrow  valley 
which  must  be  crossed  before  reaching  the  trees ; — wishing 
to  get  as  near  as  possible,  I  entreat  the  sheik  to  give  me 
his  son  and  several  horsemen;  I  leave  my  wife  and  my 
caravan  at  Eden  ;  I  mount  the  strongest  of  my  horses, 
Scham,  and  we  are  en  route  at  break  of  day ; — a  march  of 
three  hours  over  the  crests  of  the  mountains,  or  in  the  fields 
softened  with  melting  snow.  I  arrive  at  the  edge  of  the 
valley  of  the  Saints,  a  deep  gorge  where  the  glance  sweeps 
from  the  rocky  height  to  a  valley  more  confined,  more 
sombre  and  more  solemn  even  than  that  of  Hamana ;  at 
the  top  of  this  valley,  at  the  place  where,  after  continually 
rising,  it  reaches  the  snows,  a  superb  sheet  of  water  falls,  a 
hundred  feet  high  and  two  or  three  toises  wide ;  the  entire 
valley  resounds  with  this  waterfall  and  the  leaping  torrents 
that  it  feeds ;  on  every  side  the  rocky  flanks  of  the  moun- 
tain stream  with  foam  ;  we  see  almost  beyond  our  vision, 
in  the  depths  of  the  valley,  two  large  villages  the  houses  of 
which  can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  the  rocks  rolled 
down  by  the  torrent ;  the  tops  of  the  poplars  and  the  mul- 
berries from  here  look  like  tufts  of  reed  or  grass ;  we  de- 
scend to  the  village  of  Beschieral  by  paths  cut  in  the  rock, 
and  so  abrupt  that  one  can  hardly  imagine  that  men  will 


100  THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON 

risk  themselves  upon  them  ;  people  do  perish  sometimes ;  a 
stone  thrown  from  the  crest  where  we  stand  would  fall 
upon  the  roofs  of  these  villages  where  we  shall  arrive  after 
an  hour's  descent ;  above  the  cascade  and  the  snows,  enor- 
mous fields  of  ice  extend,  undulating  like  vapours  in  tints 
greenish  and  blue  by  turns ;  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
towards  the  left  in  a  half  circular  valley  formed  by  the  last 
mounts  of  Lebanon,  we  see  a  large,  black  blot  upon  the 
snow, — the  famous  group  of  cedars ;  they  crown  the  brow 
of  the  mountain  like  a  diadem ;  they  mark  the  branching 
off  of  numerous  and  large  valleys  that  descend  from  there ; 
the  sea  and  the  sky  are  their  horizon. 

We  put  our  horses  to  a  gallop  over  the  snow  to  get  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  forest ;  but  on  arriving  five  or  six 
hundred  steps  from  the  trees,  we  plunge  our  horses  up  to 
their  shoulders ;  we  realize  that  the  report  of  the  Arabs  is 
correct,  and  we  must  renounce  the  hope  of  touching  these 
relics  of  the  centuries  and  of  nature;  we  alight  and  sit 
upon  a  rock  to  contemplate  them. 

These  trees  are  the  most  celebrated  natural  monuments 
in  the  whole  universe.  Religion,  poetry,  and  history  have 
equally  consecrated  them.  Holy  Writ  celebrates  them  in 
several  places.  They  are  one  of  the  favourite  images  which 
the  prophets  employ.  Solomon  wished  to  consecrate  them 
— doubtless  on  account  of  the  renown  of  magnificence  and 
sanctity  that  these  prodigies  of  vegetation  enjoyed  at  this 
epoch — to  the  ornamentation  of  the  temple  that  he  was  the 
first  to  elevate  to  the  one  God.  These  were  certainly  the 
trees ;  for  Ezekiel  speaks  of  the  cedars  of  Eden  as  the  most 


THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON  IOI 

beautiful  of  Lebanon.  The  Arabs  of  all  sects  have  a  tra- 
ditional veneration  for  them.  They  attribute  to  these  trees, 
not  only  a  vegetative  force  that  gives  them  eternal  life,  but 
even  a  soul  that  makes  them  give  signs  of  wisdom,  of  fore- 
sight, similar  to  those  of  instinct  in  animals  and  intelligence 
in  men.  They  know  the  seasons  in  advance  ;  they  move 
their  enormous  branches  like  human  limbs,  they  spread  or 
contract  their  boughs,  they  raise  their  branches  towards  the 
sky  or  incline  them  to  the  earth,  according  as  the  snow  is 
preparing  to  fall  or  to  melt.  They  are  divine  beings  under 
the  form  of  trees.  They  grow  on  this  single  spot  of  the 
mounts  of  Lebanon ;  they  take  root  far  beyond  the  region 
where  all  prolific  vegetation  dies.  All  this  strikes  the 
imagination  of  the  Oriental  people  with  astonishment,  and 
I  do  not  know  that  science  is  not  even  more  astonished. 
Alas !  however,  Basan  languishes  and  Carmel  and  the 
flower  of  Lebanon  fade. — These  trees  diminish  every  cen- 
tury. Travellers  formerly  counted  thirty  or  forty,  later 
seventeen,  and  still  later,  about  a  dozen. — There  are  now 
only  seven  of  those  whose  massive  forms  can  presume  to 
be  contemporaneous  with  Biblical  times.  Around  these 
old  memorials  of  past  ages,  which  know  the  history  of  the 
ground  better  than  history  herself,  and  which  could  tell  us, 
if  they  could  speak,  of  many  empires,  religions,  and  vanished 
human  races,  there  remains  still  a  little  forest  of  cedars 
more  yellow  it  appears  to  me  than  a  group  of  four  or  five 
hundred  trees  or  shrubs.  Each  year  in  the  month  of  June 
the  population  of  Beschierai,  Eden,  and  Kanobin,  and  all 
the  villages  of  the  neighbouring  valleys,  ascend  to  the  cedars 


102  THE  CEDARS  OF  LEBANON 

and  celebrate  mass  at  their  feet.  How  many  prayers  have 
resounded  beneath  their  branches  !  And  what  more  beau- 
tiful temple,  what  nearer  altar  than  the  sky  !  What  more 
majestic  and  holier  dais  than  the  highest  plateau  of  Lebanon, 
the  trunks  of  the  cedars  and  the  sacred  boughs  that  have 
shaded  and  that  will  still  shade  so  many  human  generations 
pronouncing  differently  the  name  of  God,  but  who  recog- 
nize him  everywhere  in  his  works  and  adore  him  in  his 
manifestations  of  nature !  And  I,  I  also  prayed  in  the 
presence  of  those  trees.  The  harmonious  wind  that  re- 
sounded through  their  sonorous  branches  played  in  my  hair 
and  froze  upon  my  eyelids  those  tears  of  sorrow  and  adora- 
tion. 

Voyage  en  Orient  (Paris,  1843). 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

THE  road  to  the  Causeway  is  bleak,  wild,  and  hilly. 
The  cabins  along  the  road  are  scarcely  better  than 
those  of  Kerry,  the  inmates  as  ragged,  and  more  fierce  and 
dark-looking.  I  never  was  so  pestered  by  juvenile  beggars 
as  in  the  dismal  village  of  Ballintoy.  A  crowd  of  them 
rushed  after  the  car,  calling  for  money  in  a  fierce  manner, 
as  if  it  was  their  right ;  dogs  as  fierce  as  the  children  came 
yelling  after  the  vehicle ;  and  the  faces  which  scowled  out 
of  the  black  cabins  were  not  a  whit  more  good-humoured. 
We  passed  by  one  or  two  more  clumps  of  cabins,  with  their 
turf  and  corn-stacks  lying  together  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  ; 
placed  there  for  the  convenience  of  the  children,  doubtless, 
who  can  thus  accompany  the  car  either  way,  and  shriek  out 
their  "  Bonny  gantleman,  gi'e  us  a  ha'p'ny."  A  couple  of 
churches,  one  with  a  pair  of  its  pinnacles  blown  off,  stood 
in  the  dismal  open  country,  and  a  gentleman's  house  here 
and  there :  there  were  no  trees  about  them,  but  a  brown 
gras..  round  about — hills  rising  and  falling  in  front,  and  the 
sea  beyond.  The  occasional  view  of  the  coast  was  noble; 
wild  Bengore  towering  eastwards  as  we  went  along;  Ra- 
ghery  Island  before  us,  in  the  steep  rocks  and  caves  of  which 
Bruce  took  shelter  when  driven  from  yonder  Scottish  coast, 
that  one  sees  stretching  blue  in  the  northeast. 


104  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

I  think  this  wild  gloomy  tract  through  which  one  passes 
is  a  good  prelude  for  what  is  to  be  the  great  sight  of  the 
day,  and  got  my  mind  to  a  proper  state  of  awe  by  the  time 
we  were  near  the  journey's  end.  Turning  away  shore- 
wards  by  the  fine  house  of  Sir  Francis  Macnaghten,  I  went 
towards  a  lone  handsome  inn,  that  stands  close  to  the 
Causeway.  The  landlord  at  Ballycastle  had  lent  me  Ham- 
ilton's book  to  read  on  the  road;  but  I  had  not  time  then 
to  read  more  than  half-a-dozen  pages  of  it.  They  de- 
scribed how  the  author,  a  clergyman  distinguished  as  a  man 
of  science,  had  been  thrust  out  of  a  friend's  house  by  the 
frightened  servants  one  wild  night,  and  butchered  by  some 
Whiteboys  who  were  waiting  outside  and  called  for  his 
blood.  I  had  been  told  at  Belfast  that  there  was  a  corpse 
in  the  inn  :  was  it  there  now  ?  It  had  driven  off,  the  car- 
boy said,  "  in  a  handsome  hearse  and  four  to  Dublin  the 
whole  way."  It  was  gone,  but  I  thought  the  house  looked 
as  if  the  ghost  was  there.  See,  yonder  are  the  black  rocks 
stretching  to  Portrush  :  how  leaden  and  grey  the  sea  looks ! 
how  grey  and  leaden  the  sky  !  You  hear  the  waters  rush- 
ing evermore,  as  they  have  done  since  the  beginning  of  the 
world.  The  car  drives  us  with  a  dismal  grinding  noise  of 
the  wheels  to  the  big  lone  house  :  there's  no  smoke  in  the 
chimneys ;  the  doors  are  locked.  Three  savage-looking 
men  rush  after  the  car  :  are  they  the  men  who  took  out  Mr. 
Hamilton — took  him  out  and  butchered  him  in  the  moon- 
light ?  Is  everybody,  I  wonder,  dead  in  that  big  house  ? 
Will  they  let  us  in  before  those  men  are  up  ?  Out  comes 
a  pretty  smiling  girl,  with  a  curtsey,  just  as  the  savages  are 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  105 

at  the  car,  and  you  are  ushered  into  a  very  comfortable 
room ;  and  the  men  turn  out  to  be  guides.  Well,  thank 
Heaven  it's  no  worse  !  I  had  fifteen  pounds  still  left ;  and, 
when  desperate,  have  no  doubt  should  fight  like  a  lion. 

The  traveller  no  sooner  issues  from  the  inn  by  a  back 
door,  which  he  is  informed  will  lead  him  straight  to  the 
Causeway,  than  the  guides  pounce  upon  him,  with  a  dozen 
rough  boatmen  who  are  likewise  lying  in  wait ;  and  a  crew 
of  shrill  beggar-boys,  with  boxes  of  spars,  ready  to  tear  him 
and  each  other  to  pieces  seemingly,  yell  and  bawl  inces- 
santly round  him.  "I'm  the  guide  Miss  Henry  recom- 
mends," shouts  one.  "I'm  Mr.  Macdonald's  guide," 
pushes  in  another.  "  This  way,"  roars  a  third,  and  drags 
his  prey  down  a  precipice ;  the  rest  of  them  clambering 
and  quarrelling  after.  I  had  no  friends ;  I  was  perfectly 
helpless.  I  wanted  to  walk  down  to  the  shore  by  myself, 
but  they  would  not  let  me,  and  I  had  nothing  for  it  but  to 
yield  myself  into  the  hands  of  the  guide  who  had  seized 
me,  who  hurried  me  down  the  steep  to  a  little  wild  bay, 
flanked  on  each  side  by  rugged  cliffs  and  rocks,  against 
which  the  waters  came  tumbling,  frothing,  and  roaring 
furiously.  Upon  some  of  these  black  rocks  two  or  three 
boats  were  lying :  four  men  seized  a  boat,  pushed  it  shout- 
ing into  the  water,  and  ravished  me  into  it.  We  had  slid 
between  two  rocks,  where  the  channel  came  gurgling  in : 
we  were  up  one  swelling  wave  that  came  in  a  huge  ad- 
vancing body  ten  feet  above  us,  and  were  plunging  madly 
down  another  (the  descent  causes  a  sensation  in  the  lower 
regions  of  the  stomach  which  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  here 


106  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

to  describe),  before  I  had  leisure  to  ask  myself  why  the 
deuce  I  was  in  that  boat,  with  four  rowers  hurrooing  and 
bounding  madly  from  one  liquid  mountain  to  another — four 
rowers  whom  I  was  bound  to  pay.  I  say,  the  query  came 
qualmishly  across  me  why  the  devil  I  was  there,  and  why 
not  walking  calmly  on  the  shore. 

The  guide  began  pouring  his  professional  jargon  into  my 
ears.  "  Every  one  of  them  bays,"  says  he,  "  has  a  name 
(take  my  place,  and  the  spray  won't  come  over  you) :  that 
is  Port  Noffer,  and  the  next,  Port  na  Gange;  them  rocks 
is  the  Stookawns  (for  every  rock  has  its  name  as  well  as 
every  bay);  and  yonder — give  way,  my  boys, — hurray, 
we're  over  it  now  :  has  it  wet  you  much,  sir  ? — that's  a 
little  cave :  it  goes  five  hundred  feet  under  ground,  and  the 
boats  goes  into  it  easy  of  a  calm  day." 

"  Is  it  a  fine  day  or  a  rough  one  now  ?  "  said  I ;  the  in- 
ternal disturbance  going  on  with  more  severity  than  ever. 

"  It's  betwixt  and  between ;  or,  I  may  say,  neither  one 
nor  the  other.  Sit  up,  sir.  Look  at  the  entrance  of  the 
cave.  Don't  be  afraid,  sir ;  never  has  an  accident  happened 
in  any  one  of  these  boats,  and  the  most  delicate  ladies  has 
rode  in  them  on  rougher  days  than  this.  Now,  boys,  pull 
to  the  big  cave.  That,  sir,  is  six  hundred  and  sixty  yards 
in  length,  though  some  say  it  goes  for  miles  inland,  where 
the  people  sleeping  in  their  houses  hear  the  waters  roaring 
under  them." 

The  water  was  tossing  and  tumbling  into  the  mouth  of 
the  little  cave.  I  looked, — for  the  guide  would  not  let  me 
alone  till  I  did, — and  saw  what  might  be  expected  :  a  black 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  107 

hole  of  some  forty  feet  high,  into  which  it  was  no  more 
possible  to  see  than  into  a  millstone.  "  For  Heaven's  sake, 
sir,"  says  I,  "  if  you've  no  particular  wish  to  see  the  mouth 
of  the  big  cave,  put  about  and  let  us  see  the  Causeway  and 
get  ashore."  This  was  done,  the  guide  meanwhile  telling 
some  story  of  a  ship  of  the  Spanish  Armada  having  fired 
her  guns  at  two  peaks  of  rock,  then  visible,  which  the  crew 
mistook  for  chimney-pots — what  benighted  fools  these 
Spanish  Armadilloes  must  have  been ;  it  is  easier  to  see  a 
rock  than  a  chimney-pot ;  it  is  easy  to  know  that  chimney- 
pots do  not  grow  on  rocks. — "  But  where,  if  you  please,  is 
the  Causeway  ? " 

"  That's  the  Causeway  before  you,"  says  the  guide. 

"  Which  ? " 

"  That  pier  which  you  see  jutting  out  into  the  bay  right 
ahead." 

u  Man  dieu !  and  have  I  travelled  a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  to  see  that  ?  " 

I  declare,  upon  my  conscience,  the  barge  moored  at 
Hungerford  Market  is  a  more  majestic  object,  and  seems 
to  occupy  as  much  space.  As  for  telling  a  man  that  the 
Causeway  is  merely  a  part  of  the  sight ;  that  he  is  there  for 
the  purpose  of  examining  the  surrounding  scenery ;  that  if 
he  looks  to  the  westward  he  will  see  Portrush  and  Donegal 
Head  before  him;  that  the  cliffs  immediately  in  his  front 
are  green  in  some  places,  black  in  others,  interspersed  with 
blotches  of  brown  and  streaks  of  vendure; — what  is  all  this 
to  a  lonely  individual  lying  sick  in  a  boat,  between  two  im- 
mense waves  that  only  give  him  momentary  glimpses  of  the 


108  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

land  in  question,  to  show  that  it  is  frightfully  near,  and  yet 
you  are  an  hour  from  it  ?  They  won't  let  you  go  away — 
that  cursed  guide  will  tell  out  his  stock  of  legends  and 
stories.  The  boatmen  insist  upon  your  looking  at  boxes 
of  "  specimens,"  which  you  must  buy  of  them  ;  they  laugh 
as  you  grow  paler  and  paler ;  they  offer  you  more  and  more 
"  specimens  "  ;  even  the  dirty  lad  who  pulls  number  three, 
and  is  not  allowed  by  his  comrades  to  speak,  puts  in  his 
oar,  and  hands  you  over  a  piece  of  Irish  diamond  (it  looks 
like  half-sucked  alicompayne),  and  scorns  you.  "  Hurry, 
lads,  now  for  it,  give  way  !  "  how  the  oars  do  hurtle  in  the 
rowlocks,  as  the  boat  goes  up  an  aqueous  mountain,  and 
then  down  into  one  of  those  cursed  maritime  valleys  where 
there  is  no  rest  as  on  shore  ! 

At  last,  after  they  had  pulled  me  enough  about,  and  sold 
me  all  the  boxes  of  specimens,  I  was  permitted  to  land  at 
the  spot  whence  we  set  out,  and  whence,  though  we  had 
been  rowing  for  an  hour,  we  had  never  been  above  five 
hundred  yards  distant.  Let  all  cockneys  take  warning  from 
this  ;  let  the  solitary  one  caught  issuing  from  the  back  door 
of  the  hotel,  shout  at  once  to  the  boatmen  to  be  gone — 
that  he  will  have  none  of  them.  Let  him,  at  any  rate,  go 
first  down  to  the  water  to  determine  whether  it  be  smooth 
enough  to  allow  him  to  take  any  decent  pleasure  by  riding 
on  its  surface.  For  after  all,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
it  is  pleasure  we  come  for — that  we  are  not  obliged  to  take 
those  boats.— Well,  well !  I  paid  ten  shillings  for  mine,  and 
ten  minutes  after  would  cheerfully  have  paid  five  pounds 
to  be  allowed  to  quit  it ;  it  was  no  hard  bargain  after  all. 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  1 09 

As  for  the  boxes  of  spar  and  specimens,  I  at  once,  being  on 
terra  firma,  broke  my  promise,  and  said  I  would  see  them 
all — first.  It  is  wrong  to  swear,  I  know ;  but  sometimes 
it  relieves  one  so  much  ! 

The  first  act  on  shore  was  to  make  a  sacrifice  to  Sanctis- 
sima  Tellus ;  offering  up  to  her  a  neat  and  becoming  Tag- 
lioni  coat,  bought  for  a  guinea  in  Covent  Garden  only  three 
months  back.  I  sprawled  on  my  back  on  the  smoothest  of 
rocks  that  is,  and  tore  the  elbows  to  pieces :  the  guide 
picked  me  up ;  the  boatman  did  not  stir,  for  they  had  their 
will  of  me ;  the  guide  alone  picked  me  up,  I  say,  and  bade 
me  follow  him.  We  went  across  a  boggy  ground  in  one 
of  the  little  bays,  round  which  rise  the  green  wails  of  the 
cliff,  terminated  on  either  side  by  a  black  crag,  and  the  line 
of  the  shore  washed  by  the  poluphloisboiotic,  nay  the  pol- 
uphloisboiotatotic  sea.  Two  beggars  stepped  over  the  bog 
after  us  howling  for  money,  and  each  holding  up  a  cursed 
box  of  specimens.  No  oaths,  threats,  entreaties,  would 
drive  these  vermin  away ;  for  some  time  the  whole  scene 
had  been  spoiled  by  the  incessant  and  abominable  jargon  of 
them,  the  boatmen,  and  the  guides.  I  was  obliged  to  give 
them  money  to  be  left  in  quiet,  and  if,  as  no  doubt  will  be 
the  case,  the  Giant's  Causeway  shall  be  a  still  greater  re- 
sort of  travellers  than  ever,  the  county  must  put  police- 
men on  the  rocks  to  keep  the  beggars  away,  or  fling  them 
in  the  water  when  they  appear. 

And  now,  by  force  of  money,  having  got  rid  of  the  sea 
and  land  beggars,  you  are  at  liberty  to  examine  at  your 
leisure  the  wonders  of  the  place.  There  is  not  the  least 


HO  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

need  for  a  guide  to  attend  the  stranger,  unless  the  latter 
have  a  mind  to  listen  to  a  parcel  of  legends,  which  may  be 
well  from  the  mouth  of  a  wild  simple  peasant  who  believes 
in  his  tales,  but  are  odious  from  a  dullard  who  narrates 
them  at  the  rate  of  sixpence  a  lie.  Fee  him  and  the  other 
beggars,  and  at  last  you  are  left  tranquil  to  look  at  the 
strange  scene  with  your  own  eyes,  and  enjoy  your  own 
thoughts  at  leisure. 

That  is,  if  the  thoughts  awakened  by  such  a  scene  may 
be  called  enjoyment ;  but  for  me,  I  confess,  they  are  too 
near  akin  to  fear  to  be  pleasant ;  and  I  don't  know  that  I 
would  desire  to  change  that  sensation  of  awe  and  terror 
which  the  hour's  walk  occasioned,  for  a  greater  familiarity 
with  this  wild,  sad,  lonely  place.  The  solitude  is  awful.  I 
can't  understand  how  those  chattering  guides  dare  to  lift 
up  their  voices  here,  and  cry  for  money. 

It  looks  like  the  beginning  of  the  world,  somehow  :  the 
sea  looks  older  than  in  other  places,  the  hills  and  rocks 
strange,  and  formed  differently  from  other  rocks  and  hills — 
as  those  vast  dubious  monsters  were  formed  who  possessed 
the  earth  before  man.  The  hilltops  are  shattered  into  a 
thousand  cragged  fantastical  shapes ;  the  water  comes 
swelling  into  scores  of  little  strange  creeks,  or  goes  off 
with  a  leap,  roaring  into  those  mysterious  caves  yonder, 
which  penetrate  who  knows  how  far  into  our  common 
world.  The  savage  rock-sides  are  painted  of  a  hundred 
colours.  Does  the  sun  ever  shine  here  ?  When  the  world 
was  moulded  and  fashioned  out  of  formless  chaos,  this 
must  have  been  the  bit  over — a  remnant  of  chaos  !  Think 


THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY  III 

of  that ! — it  is  a  tailor's  simile.  Well,  I  am  a  cockney  :  I 
wish  I  were  in  Pall  Mall !  Yonder  is  a  kelp-burner :  a 
lurid  smoke  from  his  burning  kelp  rises  up  to  the  leaden 
sky,  and  he  looks  as  naked  and  fierce  as  Cain.  Bubbling 
up  out  of  the  rocks  at  the  very  brim  of  the  sea  rises  a  little 
crystal  spring :  how  comes  it  there  ?  and  there  is  an  old 
grey  hag  beside,  who  has  been  there  for  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  years,  and  there  sits  and  sells  whisky  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  creation  !  How  do  you  dare  to  sell  whisky 
there,  old  woman  ?  Did  you  serve  old  Saturn  with  a  glass 
when  he  lay  along  the  Causeway  here  ?  In  reply,  she 
says,  she  has  no  change  for  a  shilling  :  she  never  has ;  but 
her  whisky  is  good. 

This  is  not  a  description  of  the  Giant's  Causeway  (as 
some  clever  critic  will  remark),  but  of  a  Londoner  there, 
who  is  by  no  means  so  interesting  an  object  as  the  natural 
curiosity  in  question.  That  single  hint  is  sufficient ;  I 
have  not  a  word  more  to  say.  "  If,"  says  he,  "  you  cannot 
describe  the  scene  lying  before  us — if  you  cannot  state 
from  your  personal  observation  that  the  number  of  basaltic 
pillars  composing  the  Causeway  has  been  computed  at 
about  forty  thousand,  which  vary  in  diameter,  their  surface 
presenting  the  appearance  of  a  tesselated  pavement  of 
polygonal  stones — that  each  pillar  is  formed  of  several  dis- 
tinct joints,  the  convex  end  of  the  one  being  accurately 
fitted  in  the  concave  of  the  next,  and  the  length  of  the 
joints  varying  from  five  feet  to  four  inches — that  although 
the  pillars  are  polygonal,  there  is  but  one  of  three  sides  in 
the  whole  forty  thousand  (think  of  that !),  but  three  of  nine 


112  THE  GIANT'S  CAUSEWAY 

sides,  and  that  it  may  be  safely  computed  that  ninety-nine 
out  of  one  hundred  pillars  have  either  five,  six,  or  seven 
sides  ;  if  you  cannot  state  something  useful,  you  had  much 
better,  sir,  retire  and  get  your  dinner." 

Never  was  summons  more  gladly  obeyed.  The  dinner 
must  be  ready  by  this  time  ;  so,  remain  you,  and  look  on 
at  the  awful  scene,  and  copy  it  down  in  words  if  you  can. 
If  at  the  end  of  the  trial  you  are  dissatisfied  with  your 
skill  as  a  painter,  and  find  that  the  biggest  of  your  words 
cannot  render  the  hues  and  vastness  of  that  tremendous 
swelling  sea — of  those  lean  solitary  crags  standing  rigid  along 
the  shore,  where  they  have  been  watching  the  ocean  ever 
since  it  was  made — of  those  grey  towers  of  Dunluce 
standing  upon  a  leaden  rock,  and  looking  as  if  some  old 
old  princess,  of  old  old  fairy  times,  were  dragon-guarded 
within — of  yon  flat  stretches  of  sand  where  the  Scotch  and 
Irish  mermaids  hold  conference — come  away,  too,  and 
prate  no  more  about  the  scene !  There  is  that  in  nature, 
dear  Jenkins,  which  passes  even  our  powers.  We  can  feel 
the  beauty  of  a  magnificent  landscape,  perhaps :  but  we 
can  describe  a  leg  of  mutton  and  turnips  better.  Come, 
then,  this  scene  is  for  our  betters  to  depict.  If  Mr.  Tenn- 
yson were  to  come  hither  for  a  month,  and  brood  over  the 
place,  he  might,  in  some  of  those  lofty  heroic  lines  which 
the  author  of  the  Morte  dy  Arthur  knows  how  to  pile  up, 
convey  to  the  reader  a  sense  of  this  gigantic  desolate  scene. 
What !  you,  too,  are  a  poet  ?  Well,  then  Jenkins,  stay  ! 
but  believe  me,  you  had  best  take  my  advice,  and  come  off. 

The  Irish  Sketch-Book  (London,  1843). 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  OF  THE  SELKIRKS 

DOUGLAS  SLADEN 

IF  Banff  represents  the  Rocky  Mountains  made  easy,  the 
Glacier  House  represents  the  Selkirks  made  easy — a 
much  more  notable  performance,  for  these  mountains  had 
long  been  regarded  as  impassable  by  engineering.  The 
Glacier  House  is  a  few  miles  beyond  Rogers'  Pass,  in  the 
midst  of  the  line's  greatest  marvels  of  nature  and  engineer- 
ing. Just  before  comes  the  monarch  of  snow  sheds;  just 
above  the  monarch  of  glaciers  ;  just  below  the  monarch  of 
viaducts.  The  Great  Glacier  of  the  Selkirks  comes  to  a 
conclusion  within  a  couple  of  miles  above  it.  The  moraines 
and  splintered  forests  at  its  foot  tell  a  frightful  tale  of  de- 
struction, and  the  glacier  advances  every  year;  but  only  a 
few  inches,  so  the  hotel  is  safe  for  the  present. 

The  hotel  is  a  pretty  little  chalet,  mostly  dining-room, 
with  a  trim,  level  lawn  in  front  containing  a  fine  fountain. 
Eighteen  miles  broad  is  the  great  Glacier  of  the  Sel- 
kirks, one  foot  of  which  is  planted  so  threateningly  above 
the  hotel  and  the  railway  station,  that  it  looks  as  if  it  meant 
to  stamp  them  out  of  existence  with  the  stealth  of  a  thief 
in  the  night. 

A  marvellous  and  delightful  walk  it  is  from  the  hotel  to 
the  Glacier — at  first  through  dry  woods  of  fir  and  spruce, 


114        THE  GREAT  GLACIER  OF  THE  SELKIRKS 

and  balsam  and  tamarack,  carpeted,  wherever  the  sun 
breaks  through,  with  purple  blueberries,  wild  raspberries, 
pigeon  and  salmon  berries.  Here  you  might  meet  a  grizzly 
bear  any  minute.  You  pause,  if  you  are  only  a  man  and  a 
woman,  on  the  lovers'  seat  under  the  thousand-ton  boulder 
hurled  down  by  the  Glacier  in  the  childhood  of  the  earth. 
Then  you  pass  the  fierce  glacial  torrent  of  grey-green 
water,  so  cold  or  charged  with  impurities  that  fish  refuse  to 
live  in  it,  swelling,  as  all  snow-fed  rivers  do,  as  the  heat  of 
a  summer's  day  waxes.  Some  of  its  pools  are  huge  and 
deep  ;  some  of  its  falls  and  rapids  as  fierce  as  the  cataract  at 
Lorette,  rounded  boulders  and  splintered  trunks  every- 
where attesting  its  fury.  The  path  crosses  and  recrosses 
the  river  over  bridges  of  tree-trunks,  with  smaller  trunks 
loosely  pinned  across  them,  like  the  little  straw  mats  in 
which  cream  cheeses  are  wrapped.  As  the  path  mounts, 
the  scenery  becomes  more  open,  and  you  are  greeted,  ac- 
cording to  the  season,  with  Canada's  gorgeous  lily  or 
Canada's  prodigality  of  wild  fruits ;  for  you  are  in  the  track 
of  the  glacier  and  the  avalanche,  and  in  the  death  of  the 
forest  is  the  birth  of  blossoms  and  berries.  All  around  you 
now  is  a  scene  of  awful  grandeur — boulders  as  big  as 
settlers'  huts,  and  giant  tree  trunks,  many  of  them  blackened 
with  fire,  tossed  together  like  the  rubbish  on  a  dust-heap, 
and,  brooding  over  all,  the  great  Glacier  like  a  dragon 
crouching  for  the  spring.  One  can  hardly  believe  it  is  the 
Glacier ;  the  transitions  are  so  abrupt.  A  turn  of  a  path 
brings  you  almost  in  contact  with  a  piece  of  ice  larger  than 
any  lake  in  the  British  Islands.  From  under  its  skirts 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  OF  THE  SELKIRKS         115 

trickle  tiny  rills  j  a  few  feet  below,  the  rills  league  them- 
selves into  a  river.  Even  a  first-class  glacier  is  a  disap- 
pointing affair  if  you  go  too  close.  Its  blueness  disappears, 
also  its  luminosity,  except  in  crevasses  deep  enough  to 
show  you  the  pure  heart  of  the  ice.  The  surface  is  a  dirty- 
looking  mixture  of  ice  and  snow.  There  were  two  lovely 
horizontal  crevasses,  one  so  spacious  and  shining  that  it  is 
called  the  Fairy  Cavern.  The  pleasure  of  standing  in  them 
is  spoilt,  because  they  look  all  the  time  as  if  they  were 
going  to  close  on  you.  At  another  foot  of  the  Glacier  there 
are  immense  moraines,  looking  like  the  earthworks  of 
Dover  Castle.  I  examined  them  one  October  day  when  I 
went  with  a  guide  to  the  top  of  the  Glacier,  eight  thousand 
feet  above  sea-level,  to  see  the  splendid  Glacier-girdled 
head  of  Mount  Fox  on  the  other  side  of  the  abyss. 

I  never  intend  to  do  any  more  mountain  climbing 
through  deep,  fresh  snow.  For  the  last  hour  or  two  of  the 
ascent  the  snow  was  as  deep  as  one's  thighs  at  every  step, 
and  though  the  guide  was  towing  me  by  a  rope  tied  round 
my  waist,  it  was  intolerably  wearisome.  To  begin  with,  he 
had  to  sound  with  his  staff  at  every  step  and  see  that  we 
were  on  terra  fir  ma,  and  not  on  the  soufflet  of  a  crevasse; 
and  though  there  had  been  such  a  snowfall  the  night  be- 
fore, the  sun  was  as  hot  as  summer  overhead.  The  sight 
was  worth  doing  once,  with  the  miles  and  miles  of  the  sea 
of  ice  all  round  one,  and  the  long  white  slopes  of  virgin 
snow. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  aggressive  visage  of  Mount 
Fox,  it  would  have  answered  to  the  description  of  the  in- 


Il6         THE  GREAT  GLACIER  OF  THE  SELKIRKS 

terior  of  Greenland  given  me  by  Dr.  Nansen,  where  the 
world  consists  of  yourselves,  the  sun,  and  the  snow.  We 
started  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  in  some  way  or 
other  I  was  not  quite  as  rapid  as  the  guide  had  calculated, 
for  a  couple  of  hours  before  nightfall  he  began  to  get  ex- 
cited, if  not  alarmed.  We  were  at  the  time  clear  of  the 
deep  snow,  and  muddling  about  in  a  mixture  of  drifts  and 
moraines;  but  after  dark  he  was  not  sure  of  his  way  until 
we  struck  the  path  at  the  foot  of  the  Glacier. 

The  Glacier  House  has  not  only  its  noble  and  easily  ac- 
cessible glacier;  it  is  in  the  very  heart  of  the  finest 
mountain  scenery  in  the  Selkirks,  which  is  so  different  to 
the  scenery  of  the  Rockies.  The  Canadian  Rockies  are 
blunt-topped  fisty  mountains,  with  knuckles  of  bare  rock 
sticking  out  everywhere.  The  Selkirks  are  graceful  pyra- 
mids and  sharp  sierras,  up  to  their  shoulders  in  magnificent 
forests  of  lofty  pines.  The  trees  on  the  Rockies  are  much 
smaller  and  poorer.  Right  above  the  hotel,  to  the  left  of 
the  overhanging  Glacier,  is  the  bare  steeple  of  Sir  Donald, 
one  of  the  monarchs  of  the  range  ;  Ross  Peak  and  Cheops 
frown  on  the  descent  of  the  line  to  the  Pacific  ;  and  the 
line  of  the  Atlantic  is  guarded  by  the  hundred  pinnacles  of 
the  rifted  mountain,  formerly  known  as  the  Hermit,  and 
now,  with  singular  infelicity,  re-christened,  in  an  eponymous 
fit,  Mount  Tupper. 

Sir  Charles  Tupper  is  one  of  Canada's  greatest  men,  but 
his  name  is  more  suitable  for  a  great  man  than  a  great 
mountain,  especially  since  there  is  a  very  perfect  effect  of 
a  hermit  and  his  dog  formed  by  boulders  near  the  top  of 


THE  GREAT  GLACIER  OF  THE  SELKIRKS         117 

the  mountain.     The  men    in  the  railway  camp  have  got 
over  this  difficulty  with  the  doggerel : 

"  That's  Sir  Charles  Tupper 
Going  home  to  his  supper." 

We  made  two  long  stays  at  the  Glacier  House,  and  I 
never  enjoyed  anything  more  in  my  life  than  the  effect  of 
the  snug  little  chalet,  with  its  velvety  lawn,  in  the  strong- 
hold of  the  giant  mountains,  brought  into  touch  with  the 
great  world  twice  a  day  by  the  trains  east  and  west,  which 
echoed  their  approach  and  departure  miles  on  miles  through 
the  ranges. 

On  the  Cars  and  Off  (London,  1895). 


MAUNA   LOA 

LADY   BRASSEY 

AT  6:30  A.  M.,  we  made  the  island  of  Hawaii, 
rather  too  much  to  leeward,  as  we  had  been  carried 
by  the  strong  current  at  least  eighteen  miles  out  of  our  course. 
We  were  therefore  obliged  to  beat  up  to  windward,  in  the 
course  of  which  operation  we  passed  a  large  bark  running  be- 
fore the  wind — the  first  ship  we  had  seen  since  leaving  Tahiti 
— and  also  a  fine  whale,  blowing  close  to  us.  We  could  not 
see  the  high  land  in  the  centre  of  the  island,  owing  to  the 
mist  in  which  it  was  enveloped,  and  there  was  great  excite- 
ment and  much  speculation  on  board  as  to  the  principal 
points  which  were  visible.  At  noon  the  observations  taken 
proved  that  Tom  was  right  in  his  opinion  as  to  our  exact 
position.  The  wind  dropped  as  we  approached  the  coast, 
where  we  could  see  the  heavy  surf  dashing  against  the  black 
lava  cliffs,  rushing  up  the  little  creeks,  and  throwing  its 
spray  in  huge  fountain-like  jets  high  above  the  tall  cocoanut- 
trees  far  inland. 

We  sailed  along  close  to  the  shore,  and  by  two  o'clock 
were  near  the  entrance  to  the  Bay  of  Hilo.  In  answer  to 
our  signal  for  a  pilot,  a  boat  came  off  with  a  man  who  said 
he  knew  the  entrance  to  the  harbour,  but  informed  us  that 
the  proper  pilot  had  gone  to  Honolulu  on  a  pleasure  trip. 


MAUN  A  LOA  1 19 

It  was  a  clear  afternoon.  The  mountains,  Mauna  Kea 
and  Mauna  Loa,  could  be  plainly  seen  from  top  to  bottom, 
their  giant  crests  rising  nearly  14,000  feet  above  our  heads, 
their  tree  and  fern  clad  slopes  seamed  with  deep  gulches 
or  ravines,  down  each  of  which  a  fertilizing  river  ran  into 
the  sea.  Inside  the  reef,  the  white  coral  shore,  on  which 
the  waves  seemed  too  lazy  to  break,  is  fringed  with  a  belt 
of  cocoanut  palms,  amongst  which,  as  well  as  on  the  hill- 
sides, the  little  white  houses  are  prettily  dotted.  All  are 
surrounded  by  gardens,  so  full  of  flowers  that  the  bright 
patches  of  colour  were  plainly  visible  even  from  the  deck  of 
the  yacht.  The  harbour  is  large,  and  is  exposed  only  to 
one  bad  wind,  which  is  most  prevalent  during  the  winter 
months. 

It  was  half-past  nine  before  we  were  all  mounted  and 
fairly  ofF.  The  first  part  of  our  way  lay  along  the  flat 
ground,  gay  with  bright  scarlet  Guernsey  lilies,  and  shaded 
by  cocoanut-trees,  between  the  town  and  the  sea.  Then 
we  struck  off  to  the  right,  and  soon  left  the  town  behind 
us,  emerging  into  the  open  country.  At  a  distance  from 
the  sea,  Hilo  looks  as  green  as  the  Emerald  Isle  itself;  but 
on  a  closer  inspection  the  grass  turns  out  to  be  coarse  and 
dry,  and  many  of  the  trees  look  scrubby  and  half  dead. 
Except  in  the  "  gulches  "  and  the  deep  holes,  between  the 
hills,  the  island  is  covered  with  lava,  in  many  places  of  so 
recent  a  deposit  that  it  has  not  yet  had  time  to  decompose, 
and  there  is  consequently  only  a  thin  layer  of  soil  on  its 
surface.  The  soil  being,  however,  very  rich,  vegetation 
flourishes  luxuriantly  for  a  time ;  but  as  soon  as  the  roots 


120  MAUNA  LOA 

have  penetrated  a  certain  depth,  and  have  come  into  con- 
tact with  the  lava,  the  trees  wither  up  and  perish,  like  the 
seed  that  fell  on  stony  ground. 

The  ohia  trees  form  a  handsome  feature  in  the  landscape, 
with  their  thick  stems,  glossy  foliage,  and  light  crimson 
flowers.  The  fruit  is  a  small,  pink,  waxy-looking  apple, 
slightly  acid,  pleasant  to  the  taste  when  you  are  thirsty. 
The  candle-nut  trees  attain  to  a  large  size,  and  their  light 
green  foliage  and  white  flowers  have  a  very  graceful  ap- 
pearance. Most  of  the  foliage,  however,  is  spoiled  by  a  de- 
posit of  a  black  dust,  not  unlike  what  one  sees  on  the 
leaves  of  a  London  garden.  I  do  not  know  whether  this  is 
caused  by  the  fumes  of  the  not  far-distant  volcano,  or 
whether  it  is  some  kind  of  mold  or  fungus. 

After  riding  about  ten  miles  in  the  blazing  sun  we 
reached  a  forest,  where  the  vegetation  was  quite  tropical, 
though  not  so  varied  in  its  beauties  as  that  of  Brazil,  or  of 
the  still  more  lovely  South  Sea  Islands.  There  were  ferns 
of  various  descriptions  in  the  forest,  and  many  fine  trees, 
entwined,  supported,  or  suffocated  by  numerous  climbing 
plants,  amongst  which  were  blue  and  lilac  convolvulus,  and 
magnificent  passion-flowers.  The  protection  from  the  sun 
afforded  by  this  dense  mass  of  foliage  was  extremely  grate- 
ful ;  but  the  air  of  the  forest  was  close  and  stifling,  and  at 
the  end  of  five  miles  we  were  glad  to  emerge  once  more 
into  the  open.  The  rest  of  the  way  lay  over  the  hard  lava, 
through  a  desert  of  scrubby  vegetation,  occasionally  re- 
lieved by  clumps  of  trees  in  hollows.  More  than  once  we 
had  a  fine  view  of  the  sea,  stretching  away  into  the  far  dis- 


MAUNA  LOA  121 

tance,  though  it  was  sometimes  mistaken  for  the  bright  blue 
sky,  until  the  surf  could  be  seen  breaking  upon  the  black 
rocks,  amid  the  encircling  groves  of  cocoanut-trees. 

The  sun  shone  fiercely  at  intervals,  and  the  rain  came 
down  several  times  in  torrents.  The  pace  was  slow,  the 
road  was  dull  and  dreary,  and  many  were  the  inquiries 
made  for  the  "  Half-way  House,"  long  before  we  reached 
it. 

Directly  we  had  finished  our  meal — about  three  o'clock — 
the  guide  came  and  tried  to  persuade  us  that,  as  the  baggage 
mules  had  not  yet  arrived,  it  would  be  too  late  for  us  to  go 
on  to-day,  and  that  we  had  better  spend  the  night  where 
we  were,  and  start  early  in  the  morning.  We  did  not,  how- 
ever, approve  of  this  arrangement,  so  the  horses  were  sad- 
dled, and  leaving  word  that  the  baggage-mules  were  to  fol- 
low us  on  as  soon  as  possible,  we  mounted,  and  set  off  for 
the  "  Volcano  House."  We  had  not  gone  far  before  we 
were  again  overtaken  by  a  shower,  which  once  more 
drenched  us  to  the  skin. 

The  scene  was  certainly  one  of  extreme  beauty.  The 
moon  was  hidden  by  a  cloud,  and  the  prospect  lighted  only 
by  the  red  glare  of  the  volcano,  which  hovered  before  and 
above  us  like  the  Israelites'  pillar  of  fire,  giving  us  hope  of 
a  splendid  spectacle  when  we  should  at  last  reach  the  long 
wished-for  crater.  Presently  the  moon  shone  forth  again, 
and  gleamed  and  glistened  on  the  raindrops  and  silver  grasses 
till  they  looked  like  fireflies  and  glowworms.  When 
we  emerged  from  the  wood,  we  found  ourselves  at 
the  very  edge  of  the  old  crater,  the  bed  of  which,  three  or 


122  MAUNA  LOA 

four  hundred  feet  beneath  us,  was  surrounded  by  steep  and 
in  many  places  overhanging  sides.  It  looked  like  an  enor- 
mous caldron,  four  or  five  miles  in  width,  full  of  a  mass  of 
coloured  pitch.  In  the  centre  was  the  still  glowing  stream 
of  dark  red  lava,  flowing  slowly  towards  us,  and  in  every 
direction  were  red-hot  patches,  and  flames  and  smoke  issu- 
ing from  the  ground.  A  bit  of  the  "  black  country  "  at 
night,  with  all  the  coal-heaps  on  fire,  would  give  you  some 
idea  of  the  scene.  Yet  the  first  sensation  is  rather  one  of 
disappointment,  as  one  expects  greater  activity  on  the  part  of 
the  volcano ;  but  the  new  crater  was  still  to  be  seen,  con- 
taining the  lake  of  fire,  with  steep  walls  rising  up  in  the 
midst  of  the  sea  of  lava.  .  .  . 

The  grandeur  of  the  view  in  the  direction  of  the  volcano 
increased  as  the  evening  wore  on.  The  fiery  cloud  above 
the  present  crater  augmented  in  size  and  depth  of  colour ; 
the  extinct  crater  glowed  red  in  thirty  or  forty  different 
places  ;  and  clouds  of  white  vapour  issued  from  every  crack 
and  crevice  in  the  ground,  adding  to  the  sulphurous  smell 
with  which  the  atmosphere  was  laden.  Our  room  faced 
the  volcano :  there  were  no  blinds,  and  I  drew  back  the 
curtains  and  lay  watching  the  splendid  scene  until  I  fell 
asleep. 

Sunday,  December  24th  (Christmas  Eve). 
I  was  up  at  four  o'clock,  to  gaze  once  more  on  the  won- 
drous spectacle  that  lay  before  me.     The  molten  lava  still 
flowed  in  many  places,  the  red  cloud  over  the  fiery  lake  was 
bright  as  ever,  and  the  stream  was  slowly  ascending  in  every 


MAUNA  LOA  123 

direction,  over  hill  and  valley,  till,  as  the  sun  rose,  it  became 
difficult  to  distinguish  clearly  the  sulphurous  vapours  from 
the  morning  mists.  We  walked  down  to  the  Sulphur  Banks, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  "  Volcano  House,"  and 
burned  our  gloves  and  boots  in  our  endeavours  to  procure 
crystals,  the  beauty  of  which  generally  disappeared  after  a 
very  short  exposure  to  the  air.  We  succeeded,  however, 
in  finding  a  few  good  specimens,  and,  by  wrapping  them  at 
once  in  paper  and  cotton-wool  and  putting  them  into  a 
bottle,  hope  to  bring  them  home  uninjured. 

On  our  return  we  found  a  gentleman  who  had  just  ar- 
rived from  Kan,  and  who  proposed  to  join  us  in  our  expedi- 
tion to  the  crater,  and  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we 
set  out,  a  party  of  eight,  with  two  guides,  and  three  porters 
to  carry  our  wraps  and  provisions,  and  to  bring  back 
specimens.  Before  leaving  the  inn  the  landlord  came  to  us 
and  begged  us  in  an  earnest  and  confidential  manner  to  be 
very  careful  to  do  exactly  what  our  guides  told  us,  and  es- 
pecially to  follow  in  their  footsteps  exactly  when  returning 
in  the  dark.  He  added  :  "  There  never  has  been  an  acci- 
dent happen  to  anybody  from  my  house,  and  I  should  feel 
real  mean  if  one  did :  but  there  have  been  a  power  of 
narrow  escapes." 

First  of  all  we  descended  the  precipice,  300  feet  in 
depth,  forming  the  wall  of  the  old  crater,  but  now  thickly 
covered  with  vegetation.  It  is  so  steep  in  many  places  that 
flights  of  zigzag  wooden  steps  have  been  inserted  in  the 
face  of  the  cliff  in  some  places,  in  order  to  render  the 
descent  practicable.  At  the  bottom  we  stepped  straight  on 


124  MAUNA  LOA 

to  the  surface  of  cold  boiled  lava,  which  we  had  seen  from 
above  last  night.  Even  here,  in  every  crevice  where  a  few 
grains  of  soil  had  collected,  delicate  little  ferns  might  be 
seen  struggling  for  life,  and  thrusting  out  their  green  fronds 
towards  the  light.  It  was  the  most  extraordinary  walk 
imaginable  over  that  vast  plain  of  lava,  twisted  and  distorted 
into  every  conceivable  shape  and  form,  according  to  the 
temperature  it  had  originally  attained,  and  the  rapidity  with 
which  it  had  cooled,  its  surface,  like  half-molten  glass, 
cracking  and  breaking  beneath  our  feet.  Sometimes  we 
came  to  a  patch  that  looked  like  the  contents  of  a  pot,  sud- 
denly petrified  in  the  act  of  boiling ;  sometimes  the  black 
iridescent  lava  had  assumed  the  form  of  waves,  or  more 
frequently  of  huge  masses  of  rope,  twisted  and  coiled  to- 
gether; sometimes  it  was  piled  up  like  a  collection  of 
organ-pipes,  or  had  gathered  into  mounds  and  cones  of 
various  dimensions.  As  we  proceeded  the  lava  became 
hotter  and  hotter,  and  from  every  crack  arose  gaseous 
fumes,  affecting  our  noses  and  throats  in  a  painful  manner; 
till  at  last,  when  we  had  to  pass  to  leeward  of  the  molten 
stream  flowing  from  the  lake,  the  vapours  almost  choked 
us,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  we  continued  to  advance. 
The  lava  was  more  glassy  and  transparent-looking,  as  if  it 
had  been  fused  at  a  higher  temperature  than  usual ;  and 
the  crystals  of  sulphur,  alum,  and  other  minerals,  with 
which  it  abounded,  reflected  the  light  in  bright  prismatic 
colours.  In  places  it  was  quite  transparent,  and  we  could 
see  beneath  it  the  long  streaks  of  a  stringy  kind  of  lava,  like 
brown  spun  glass,  called  "  Pele's  hair." 


MAUNA  LOA  125 

At  last  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  present  crater,  and 
commenced  the  ascent  of  the  outer  wall.  Many  times  the 
thin  crust  gave  way  beneath  our  guide,  and  he  had  to  retire 
quickly  from  the  hot,  blinding,  choking  fumes  that  immedi- 
ately burst  forth.  But  we  succeeded  in  reaching  the  top ; 
and  then  what  a  sight  presented  itself  to  our  astonished 
eyes  !  I  could  neither  speak  nor  move  at  first,  but  could 
only  stand  and  gaze  at  the  terrible  grandeur  of  the  scene. 

We  were  standing  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  precipice, 
overhanging  a  lake  of  molten  fire,  a  hundred  feet  below  us, 
and  nearly  a  mile  across.  Dashing  against  the  cliffs  on  the 
opposite  side,  with  a  noise  like  the  roar  of  a  stormy  ocean, 
waves  of  blood-red,  fiery,  liquid  lava  hurled  their  billows 
upon  an  iron-bound  headland,  and  then  rushed  up  the  face 
of  the  cliffs  to  toss  their  gory  spray  high  in  the  air.  The 
restless,  heaving  lake  boiled  and  bubbled,  never  remaining 
the  same  for  two  minutes  together.  Its  normal  colour 
seemed  to  be  a  dull,  dark  red,  covered  with  a  thin  grey 
scum,  which  every  moment  and  in  every  part  swelled  and 
cracked,  and  emitted  fountains,  cascades,  and  whirlpools  of 
yellow  and  red  fire,  while  sometimes  one  big  golden  river, 
sometimes  four  or  five  flowed  across  it.  There  was  an 
island  on  one  side  of  the  lake,  which  the  fiery  waves  seemed 
to  attack  unceasingly  with  relentless  fury,  as  if  bent  on 
hurling  it  from  its  base.  On  the  other  side  was  a  large 
cavern,  into  which  the  burning  mass  rushed  with  a  loud 
roar,  breaking  down  in  its  impetuous  headlong  career  the 
gigantic  stalactites  that  overhung  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and 
flinging  up  the  liquid  material  for  the  formation  of  fresh  ones. 


126  MAUNA  LOA 

It  was  all  terribly  grand,  magnificently  sublime ;  but  no 
words  could  adequately  describe  such  a  scene.  The  preci- 
pice on  which  we  were  standing  overhung  the  crater  so 
much  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  what  was  going  on  im- 
mediately beneath ;  but  from  the  columns  of  smoke  and 
vapour  that  arose,  the  flames  and  sparks  that  constantly 
drove  us  back  from  the  edge,  it  was  easy  to  imagine  that 
there  must  have  been  two  or  three  grand  fiery  fountains  be- 
low. As  the  sun  set,  and  the  darkness  enveloped  the 
scene,  it  became  more  awful  than  ever.  We  retired  a  little 
way  from  the  brink,  to  breathe  some  fresh  air,  and  to  try 
and  eat  the  food  we  had  brought  with  us ;  but  this  was  an 
impossibility.  Every  instant  a  fresh  explosion  or  glare 
made  us  jump  up  to  survey  the  stupendous  scene.  The 
violent  struggles  of  the  lava  to  escape  from  its  fiery  bed, 
and  the  loud  and  awful  noises  by  which  they  were  at 
times  accompanied,  suggested  the  idea  that  some  impris- 
oned monsters  were  trying  to  release  themselves  from  their 
bondage  with  shrieks  and  groans,  and  cries  of  agony  and 
despair,  at  the  futility  of  their  efforts. 

Sometimes  there  were  at  least  seven  spots  on  the  borders 
of  the  lake  where  the  molten  lava  dashed  up  furiously 
against  the  rocks — seven  fire-fountains  playing  simultane- 
ously. With  the  increasing  darkness  the  colours  emitted 
by  the  glowing  mass  became  more  and  more  wonderful, 
varying  from  the  deepest  jet-black  to  the  palest  grey,  from 
darkest  maroon  through  cherry  and  scarlet  to  the  most  delicate 
pink,  violet,  and  blue ;  from  the  richest  brown,  through  orange 
and  yellow,  to  the  lightest  straw-colour.  And  there  was  yet  an- 


MAUN  A  LOA  127 

other  shade,  only  describable  by  the  term  "  molten-lava  col- 
our." Even  the  smokes  and  vapours  were  rendered  beautiful 
by  their  borrowed  lights  and  tints,  and  the  black  peaks,  pin- 
nacles, and  crags,  which  surrounded  the  amphitheatre, 
formed  a  splendid  and  appropriate  background.  Sometimes 
great  pieces  broke  off  and  tumbled  with  a  crash  into  the 
burning  lake,  only  to  be  remelted  and  thrown  up  anew.  I 
had  for  some  time  been  feeling  very  hot  and  uncomfort- 
able, and  on  looking  round  the  cause  was  at  once  appar- 
ent. Not  two  inches  beneath  the  surface,  the  grey  lava  on 
which  we  were  standing  and  sitting  was  red-hot.  A  stick 
thrust  through  it  caught  fire,  a  piece  of  paper  was  immedi- 
ately destroyed,  and  the  gentlemen  found  the  heat  from  the 
crevices  so  great  that  they  could  not  approach  near  enough 
to  light  their  pipes. 

One  more  last  look,  and  then  we  turned  our  faces  away 
from  the  scene  that  had  enthralled  us  for  so  many  hours. 
The  whole  of  the  lava  we  had  crossed,  in  the  extinct 
crater,  was  now  aglow  in  many  patches,  and  in  all  direc- 
tions flames  were  bursting  forth,  fresh  lava  was  flowing, 
and  smoke  and  steam  were  issuing  from  the  surface.  It 
was  a  toilsome  journey  back  again,  walking  as  we  did  in 
single  file,  and  obeying  the  strict  injunctions  of  our  head 
guide  to  follow  him  closely,  and  to  tread  exactly  in  his  foot- 
steps. On  the  whole  it  was  easier  by  night  than  by  day 
to  distinguish  the  route  to  be  taken,  as  we  could  now  see 
the  dangers  that  before  we  could  only  feel ;  and  many  were 
the  fiery  crevices  we  stepped  over  or  jumped  across.  Once 
I  slipped,  and  my  foot  sank  through  the  thin  crust.  Sparks 


128  MAUN  A  LOA 

issued  from  the  ground,  and  the  stick  on  which  I  leaned 
caught  fire  before  I  could  fairly  recover  myself. 

Monday,  December  25th,  (Christmas  Day). 
Turning  in  last  night  was  the  work  of  a  very  few 
minutes,  and  this  morning  I  awoke  perfectly  refreshed  and 
ready  to  appreciate  anew  the  wonders  of  the  prospect  that 
met  my  eyes.  The  pillar  of  fire  was  still  distinctly  visible, 
when  I  looked  out  from  my  window,  though  it  was  not  so 
bright  as  when  I  had  last  seen  it:  but  even  as  I  looked  it 
began  to  fade,  and  gradually  disappeared.  At  the  same 
moment  a  river  of  glowing  lava  issued  from  the  side  of  the 
bank  which  we  had  climbed  with  so  much  difficulty  yester- 
day, and  slowly  but  surely  overflowed  the  ground  we  had 
walked  over.  I  woke  Tom,  and  you  may  imagine  the 
feelings  with  which  we  gazed  upon  this  startling  phenom- 
enon, which,  had  it  occurred  a  few  hours  earlier,  might  have 
caused  the  destruction  of  the  whole  party. 

A  Voyage  in  the  Sunbeam  (London,  1878). 


TROLLHATTA 

HANS  CHRISTIAN  ANDERSEN 

WHOM  did  we  meet  at  Trollhatta  ?  It  is  a 
strange  story.  We  will  relate  it. 

We  landed  at  the  first  sluice  and  immediately  stood  in  a 
kind  of  English  garden ;  the  broad  pathways  are  covered 
with  gravel  and  rise  in  low  terraces  between  the  green  sun- 
lit greensward.  It  is  charming  and  delightful  here,  but  by 
no  means  imposing;  if  one  desires  to  be  excited  in  this 
manner,  he  must  go  a  little  higher  up  to  the  old  sluices, 
that  have  burst,  deep  and  narrow,  through  the  hard  rock. 
Nature  is  magnificent  here,  and  the  water  roars  and  foams  in 
its  deep  bed  far  below.  Up  here  one  looks  over  valley  and 
river ;  the  bank  of  the  river  on  the  other  side  rises  in  green 
undulating  hills,  with  clusters  of  leafy  trees  and  wooden 
houses  painted  red  ;  rocks  and  pine  forests  hem  in  the  land- 
scape. Through  the  sluices  steamboats  and  sailing  vessels 
are  ascending ;  the  water  itself  is  the  attendant  spirit  that 
must  bear  them  up  above  the  rock.  And  from  the  forest 
it  issues,  buzzing,  roaring,  and  blustering.  The  din  of  the 
Trollhatta  Falls  mingles  with  the  noise  of  the  sawmills 
and  the  smithies. 

"  In  three  hours  we  shall  be  through  the  sluices,"  said 
the  Captain,  "  and  then  you  shall  visit  the  Falls.  We  shall 
meet  again  at  the  inn  above." 


130  TROLLHATTA 

We  went  along  the  path  that  led  through  the  forest  and 
thickets ;  a  whole  flock  of  bare-headed  boys  surrounded  us, 
all  wishing  to  be  our  guides ;  each  one  outscreamed  the 
other,  and  each  gave  contradictory  explanations  of  how 
high  was  the  water  and  how  high  it  did  not  or  could  rise; 
and  here  was  also  a  great  difference  of  opinion  among  the 
learned.  Soon  we  came  to  a  halt  on  a  large  heather- 
covered  rock,  a  dizzying  eminence.  Before  us,  but  deep 
below,  the  foaming,  roaring  water — the  Hell  Fall,  and  over 
this,  cascade  after  cascade,  the  rich,  swelling,  rushing 
river,  the  outlet  of  the  largest  lake  in  Sweden.  What  a 
sight,  what  a  foaming  above  and  below !  It  is  like  the 
waves  of  the  sea,  or  like  effervescing  champagne,  or  like  boil- 
ing milk ;  the  water  rushes  around  two  rocky  islands  above  so 
that  the  spray  rises  like  mist  from  a  meadow,  while  below, 
it  is  more  compressed,  and,  hurrying  away,  returns  in 
circles ;  then  it  rolls  down  in  a  long  wave-like  fall,  the 
Hell  Fall.  What  a  roaring  storm  in  the  deep — what  a 
spectacle !  Man  is  dumb.  And  so  were  also  the  scream- 
ing little  guides ;  they  were  silent,  and  when  they  renewed 
their  explanations  and  stories,  they  did  not  get  far  before  an 
old  gentleman,  whom  none  of  us  had  noticed,  although  he 
was  here  among  us,  made  himself  heard  above  the  noise 
with  his  peculiarly  shrill  voice ;  he  spoke  of  the  place  and 
its  former  days  as  if  they  had  been  of  yesterday. 

"  Here  on  the  rocky  isles,"  said  he,  "  here  in  olden 
times  the  warriors,  as  they  are  called,  decided  their  dis- 
putes. The  warrior,  Starkodder,  dwelt  in  this  region,  and 
took  a  fancy  to  the  pretty  maid  Ogn ;  but  she  fancied 


TROLLHATTA  13! 

Hergrimer  the  more,  and  in  consequence  he  was  challenged 
by  Starkodder  to  a  duel  here  by  the  Falls  and  met  his 
death ;  but  Ogn  sprang  towards  them,  and,  seizing  her 
lover's  bloody  sword,  thrust  it  into  her  heart.  Starkodder 
did  not  get  her.  So  a  hundred  years  passed  and  another 
hundred ;  the  forest  became  heavy  and  thick,  wolves  and 
bears  prowled  here  summer  and  winter,  and  wicked  robbers 
hid  their  booty  here  and  no  one  could  find  them ;  yonder,  by 
the  Fall  before  Top  Island,  on  the  Norwegian  side,  was  their 
cave  ;  now  it  has  fallen  in — the  cliff  there  overhangs  it !  " 

"Yes,  the  Tailors'  Cliff!  "  screamed  all  the  boys.  "It 
fell  in  the  year  1755  !  " 

"  Fell ! "  cried  the  old  man  as  if  astonished  that  any  one 
could  know  of  it  but  himself.  "  Everything  will  fall :  the 
tailor  also  fell.  The  robbers  placed  him  upon  the  cliff  and 
told  him  that  if  he  would  be  liberated  for  his  ransom  he 
must  sew  a  suit  of  clothes  there ;  he  tried  to  do  it,  but  as 
he  drew  out  his  thread  at  the  first  stitch,  he  became  dizzy 
and  fell  into  the  roaring  water,  and  thus  the  rock  got  the 
name  of  The  Tailors'  Cliff.  One  day  the  robbers 
caught  a  young  girl,  and  she  betrayed  them  ;  she  kindled  a 
fire  in  the  cavern,  the  smoke  was  seen,  the  cavern  was  dis- 
covered, and  the  robbers  imprisoned  and  executed ;  that 
outside  there  is  called  The  Thieves'  Fall,  and  below,  un- 
der the  water,  is  another  cave ;  the  river  rushes  in  there 
and  issues  out  foaming ;  you  can  see  it  well  up  here  and 
hear  it  too,  but  it  can  be  heard  better  under  the  stony  roof 
of  the  mountain  sprite." 

And  we  went  on  and  on  along  the  waterfall  towards  Top 


132  TROLLHATTA 

Island,  always  on  smooth  paths  covered  with  saw-dust 
to  Polhelm's-Sluice  ;  a  cleft  has  been  made  in  the  rock  for 
the  first  intended  sluice-work,  which  was  not  finished,  but 
on  account  of  which  has  been  shaped  the  most  imposing  of 
all  the  Trollhatta  Falls  ;  the  hurrying  water  falls  perpen- 
dicularly into  the  dark  depth.  The  side  of  the  rock  here  is 
connected  with  Top  Island  by  means  of  a  light  iron  bridge, 
which  seems  to  be  thrown  over  the  abyss ;  we  venture  on 
this  swaying  bridge  above  the  rushing,  whirling  water,  and 
soon  stand  on  the  little  rocky  island  between  firs  and  pines 
that  dart  out  of  the  crevices ;  before  us  rushes  a  sea  of 
waves,  broken  as  they  rebound  against  the  rock  on  which  we 
stand,  spraying  us  with  their  fine  eternal  mist ;  on  each  side 
the  torrent  flows  as  if  shot  from  a  gigantic  cannon,  waterfall 
upon  waterfall ;  we  look  above  them  all  and  are  lulled  by 
the  harmonic  tone  that  has  existed  for  thousands  of  years. 

u  No  one  can  ever  get  to  that  island  over  there,"  said  one  of 
our  party,  pointing  to  the  large  island  above  the  highest  fall. 

"  I  know  one  who  got  there  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
and  nodded  with  a  peculiar  smile. 

"Yes,  my  grandfather  got  there  !  "  said  one  of  the  boys, 
"  but  for  a  hundred  years  scarcely  any  one  else  has  reached 
it.  The  cross  that  stands  there  was  set  up  by  my  grand- 
father. It  had  been  a  severe  winter,  the  whole  of  Lake 
Venern  was  frozen,  the  ice  dammed  up  the  outlet,  and  for 
many  hours  the  bottom  was  dry.  Grandfather  has  told  us 
about  it :  he  and  two  others  went  over,  set  up  the  cross, 
and  returned.  Just  then  there  was  a  thundering  and  crack- 
ing noise  just  like  cannon,  the  ice  broke  up  and  the  stream 


TROLLHATTA  133 

overflowed  meadows   and  forest.     It   is   true,  every   word 
I  say  !  " 

One  of  the  travellers  cited  Tegner : 

"  Vildt  Gota  stortade  fran  Fjallen, 

Hemsk  Trollet  fran  sat  Toppfall  rot ! 
Men  Snillet  kom  och  sprangt  stod  Hallen, 
Med  Skeppen  i  sitt  skot ! " 

"  Poor  mountain  sprite,"  he  added,  "  thy  power  and 
glory  are  failing !  Man  flies  beyond  thee — Thou  must 
learn  of  him  !  " 

The  garrulous  old  man  made  a  grimace,  and  muttered 
something  to  himself — but  we  were  now  by  the  bridge  be- 
fore the  inn,  the  steamboat  glided  through  the  open  way, 
every  one  hurried  on  board  and  immediately  it  shot  above 
the  Fall  just  as  if  no  Fall  existed. 

It  was  evening ;  I  stood  on  the  heights  of  Trollhatta's 
old  sluices,  and  saw  the  ships  with  outspread  sails  glide 
away  over  the  meadows  like  large  white  spectres.  The 
sluice-gates  opened  with  a  heavy,  crashing  sound  like  that 
related  of  the  copper  gates  of  the  Vehmgericht ;  the  evening 
was  so  still ;  in  the  deep  silence  the  tone  of  the  Trollhatta 
Fall  was  like  a  chorus  of  a  hundred  water-mills,  ever  one 
and  the  same  tone  and  sometimes  the  ringing  of  a  deep  and 
mighty  note  that  seemed  to  pass  through  the  very  earth — 
and  yet  through  all  this  the  eternal  silence  of  Nature  was 
felt ; — suddenly  a  great  bird  with  heavily  flapping  wings 
flew  out  of  the  trees  in  the  deep  woods  towards  the  water- 
fall. Was  it  the  mountain  sprite  ?  We  must  believe  so. 

Pictures  of  Sweden  (Leipzig,  1851). 


THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO 

C.  F.   GORDON-GUMMING 

PROBABLY  the  greatest  chasm  in  the  known  world 
is  the  grand  canyon  of  the  Colorado  river  (the  Rio 
Colorado  Grande),  which  is  a  gorge  upward  of  two  hun- 
dred miles  in  length,  and  of  tremendous  depth.  Through- 
out this  distance  its  vertical  crags  measure  from  one  to  up- 
wards of  six  thousand  feet  in  depth  !  Think  of  it !  The 
highest  mountain  in  Scotland  measures  4,418  feet.  The 
height  of  Niagara  is  145  feet.  And  here  is  a  narrow,  tor- 
tuous pass  where  the  river  has  eaten  its  way  to  a  depth  of 
6,200  feet  between  vertical  granite  crags  ! 

Throughout  this  canyon  there  is  no  cascade ;  and  though 
the  river  descends  16,000  feet  within  a  very  short  distance, 
forming  rushing  rapids,  it  is  nevertheless  possible  to  de- 
scend it  by  a  raft — and  this  has  actually  been  done,  in  defi- 
ance of  the  most  appalling  dangers  and  hardships.  It  is 
such  a  perilous  adventure  as  to  be  deemed  worthy  of  note 
even  in  this  country,  where  every  prospector  carries  his  life 
in  his  hand,  and  to  whom  danger  is  the  seasoning  of  daily 
life,  which,  without  it,  would  appear  positively  monotonous. 

I  suppose  no  river  in  the  world  passes  through  scenery 
so  extraordinary  as  does  the  Colorado  river,  in  its  journey 
of  2,000  miles  from  its  birthplace  in  the  Rocky  mountains, 


THE  GRAND  CANON  OF  THE  COLORADO. 


THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO    135 

till,  traversing  the  burning  plains  of  New  Mexico,  it  ends 
its  course  in  the  Gulf  of  California.  Its  early  career  is 
uneventful.  In  its  youth  it  bears  a  maiden  name,  and,  as 
the  Green  river,  wends  it  way  joyously  through  the  upper 
forests.  Then  it  reaches  that  ghastly  country  known  as 
the  mauvaises  terres  of  Utah  and  Arizona — a  vast  region — 
extending  also  into  Nevada  and  Wyoming,  which,  by  the 
ceaseless  action  of  water,  has  been  carried  into  an  intricate 
labyrinth  of  deep  gloomy  caverns. 

For  a  distance  of  one  thousand  miles  the  river  winds  its 
tortuous  course  through  these  stupendous  granite  gorges, 
receiving  the  waters  of  many  tributary  streams,  each  rush- 
ing along  similar  deeply  hewn  channels. 

In  all  the  range  of  fiction  no  adventures  can  be  devised 
more  terrible  than  those  which  have  actually  befallen  gold- 
seekers  and  hunters  who,  from  any  cause,  have  strayed  into 
this  dreary  and  awesome  region.  It  was  first  discovered  by 
two  bold  explorers,  by  name  Strobe  and  White,  who,  be- 
ing attacked  by  Indians,  took  refuge  in  the  canyons.  Pre- 
ferring to  face  unknown  dangers  to  certain  death  at  the 
hands  of  the  enemy,  they  managed  to  collect  enough  tim- 
ber to  construct  a  rude  raft,  and  determined  to  attempt 
the  descent. 

Once  embarked  on  that  awful  journey,  there  was  no  re- 
turning— they  must  endure  to  the  bitter  end. 

On  the  fourth  day  the  raft  was  upset.  Strobe  was 
drowned,  and  the  little  store  of  provisions  and  ammunition 
was  lost.  White  contrived  to  right  the  raft,  and  for  ten 
days  the  rushing  waters  bore  him  down  the  frightful  chasm, 


136    THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO 

seeing  only  the  perpendicular  cliffs  on  either  side,  and  the 
strip  of  sky  far  overheard — never  knowing,  from  hour  to 
hour,  but  that  at  the  next  winding  of  the  canyon  the  stream 
might  overleap  some  mighty  precipice,  and  so  end  his  long 
anguish.  During  those  awful  ten  days  of  famine,  a  few 
leaves  and  seed-pods,  clutched  from  the  bushes  on  the 
rocks,  were  his  only  food. 

At  length  he  reached  a  wretched  settlement  of  half- 
bred  Mexicans,  who,  deeming  his  escape  miraculous,  fed 
him  ;  and  eventually  he  reached  the  homes  of  white  men, 
who  looked  on  him  (as  well  they  might)  as  on  one  returned 
from  the  grave.  The  life  thus  wonderfully  saved,  was, 
however,  sacrificed  a  few  months  later,  when  he  fell  into 
the  hands  of  his  old  Indian  foes. 

The  story  of  White's  adventure  was  confirmed  by  vari- 
ous trappers  and  prospectors,  who,  from  time  to  time,  ven- 
tured some  little  way  into  this  mysterious  rock-labyrinth ; 
and  it  was  determined  to  attempt  a  government  survey  of 
the  region.  Accordingly,  in  1869,  a  party,  commanded  by 
Major  J.  W.  Powell,  started  on  this  most  interesting  but 
dangerous  expedition.  Warned  by  the  fate  of  a  party  who 
attempted  to  explore  the  country  in  1855,  and  who,  with 
the  exception  of  two  men  (Ashley  and  another),  all  perished 
miserably,  the  government  party  started  with  all  possible 
precautions. 

Four  light  Chicago-built  boats  were  provisioned  for  six 
months,  and,  with  infinite  difficulty,  were  transported  1,500 
miles  across  the  desert.  On  reaching  their  starting-point, 
they  were  lowered  into  the  awful  ravines,  from  which  it 


THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO    137 

was,  to  say  the  least,  problematic  whether  all  would  emerge 
alive.  The  dangers,  great  enough  in  reality,  had  been 
magnified  by  rumour.  It  was  reported,  with  every  sem- 
blance of  probability,  that  the  river  formed  terrible  whirl- 
pools— that  it  flowed  underground  for  hundreds  of  miles, 
and  emerged  only  to  fall  in  mighty  cataracts  and  appalling 
rapids.  Even  the  friendly  Indians  entreated  the  explorers 
not  to  attempt  so  rash  an  enterprise,  assuring  them  that 
none  who  embarked  on  that  stream  would  escape  alive. 

But  in  the  face  of  all  such  counsel,  the  expedition  started, 
and  for  upwards  of  three  months  the  party  travelled,  one 
may  almost  say  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth — at  least  in  her 
deepest  furrows — through  canyons  where  the  cliffs  rise, 
sheer  from  the  water,  to  a  height  of  three-quarters  of 
a  mile ! 

They  found,  as  was  only  natural,  that  imagination  had 
exaggerated  the  horrors  of  the  situation,  and  that  it  was 
possible  to  follow  the  rock-girt  course  of  the  Colorado 
through  all  its  wanderings — not  without  danger,  of  course. 
In  many  places  the  boat  had  to  be  carried.  One  was 
totally  wrecked  and  its  cargo  lost,  and  the  others  came  to 
partial  grief,  entailing  the  loss  of  valuable  instruments,  and 
almost  more  precious  lives.  Though  no  subterranean  pas- 
sage was  discovered,  nor  any  actual  waterfall,  there  were, 
nevertheless,  such  dangerous  rapids  as  to  necessitate  fre- 
quent troublesome  portage;  and  altogether,  the  expedition 
had  its  full  share  of  adventure. 

The  ground  was  found  to  vary  considerably.  In  some 
places  the  rock  is  so  vivid  in  colour — red  and  orange — that 


138   THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO 

the  canyons  were  distinguished  as  the  Red  Canyon  and  the 
Flaming  Gorge.  Some  are  mere  fissures  of  tremendous 
depth ;  while  in  other  places,  where  the  water  has  carved 
its  way  more  freely,  they  are  broad,  here  and  there  expand- 
ing into  a  fertile  oasis,  where  green  turf  and  lovely  groves 
are  enclosed  by  stupendous  crags — miniature  Yosemites — 
which  to  these  travellers  appeared  to  be  indeed  visions  of 
Paradise. 

Granite  Crags  (Edinburgh  and  London,  1884). 


THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR 

AUGUSTUS  J.  C.  HARE 

IT  was  a  lovely  day,  and  a  calm  sea,  which  was  a  great 
subject  of  rejoicing,  for  even  as  it  was  the  rickety 
Spanish  vessel  rolled  disagreeably.  Owing  to  the  miser- 
able slowness  of  everything,  we  were  eleven  hours  on 
board.  There  was  little  interest  till  we  reached  the  yellow 
headland  of  Trafalgar.  Then  the  rugged  outlines  of  the 
African  coast  rose  before  us,  and  we  entered  the  straits,  be- 
tween Tarifa  sleeping  amid  its  orange  groves  on  the  Span- 
ish coast,  and  the  fine  African  peak  above  Ceuta.  Soon, 
on  the  left,  the  great  rock  of  Gibraltar  rose  from  the  sea 
like  an  island,  though  not  the  most  precipitous  side,  which 
turns  inwards  towards  the  Mediterranean.  But  it  was  al- 
ready gun-fire,  and  too  late  to  join  another  steamer  and 
land  at  the  town,  so  we  waited  for  a  shoal  of  small  boats 
which  put  out  from  Algeciras,  and  surrounded  our  steamer 
to  carry  us  on  shore. 

Here  we  found  in  the  Fonda  Inglesa  (kept  by  an  Eng- 
lish landlady),  one  of  the  most  primitive  but  charming 
little  hotels  we  ever  entered.  The  view  from  our  rooms 
alone  decided  us  to  stay  there  some  days.  Hence,  framed 
by  the  balcony,  Gibraltar  rose  before  us  in  all  the  glory  of 
its  rugged  sharp-edged  cliffs,  grey  in  the  morning,  pink  in 


THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR 

the  evening  light,  with  the  town  at  its  foot,  whence,  at 
night,  thousands  of  lights  were  reflected  on  the  still  water. 
In  the  foreground  were  groups  of  fishing-boats  at  anchor, 
and,  here  and  there,  a  lateen  sail  flitted,  like  a  white 
albatross,  across  the  bay.  On  the  little  pier  beneath  us 
was  endless  life  and  movement,  knots  of  fishermen,  in 
their  blue  shirts  and  scarlet  caps  and  sashes,  mingling  with 
solemn-looking  Moors  in  turbans,  yellow  slippers,  and 
flowing  burnouses,  who  were  watching  the  arrival  or  em- 
barcation  of  their  wares ;  and  an  endless  variety  of  trav- 
ellers from  all  pans  of  Europe,  waiting  for  different 
steamers,  or  come  over  to  see  the  place.  Here  an  invalid 
might  stay,  imbibing  health  from  the  fine  air  and  sunshine, 
and  never  be  weary  of  the  ever  changing  diorama.  In 
every  direction  delightful  walks  wind  along  the  cliffs 
through  groves  of  aloes  and  prickly-pear,  or  descend  into 
little  sandy  coves  full  of  beautiful  shells.  Behind  the 
town,  a  fine  old  aqueduct  strides  across  the  valley,  and  be- 
yond it  the  wild  moors  begin  at  once  sweeping  backwards 
to  a  rugged  chain  of  mountains.  Into  the  gorges  of  these 
mountains  we  rode  one  day,  and  most  delightful  they  are, 
clothed  in  pans  with  magnificent  old  cork-trees,  while 
in  the  depths  of  a  ravine,  overhung  with  oleander  and 
rhododendron,  is  a  beautiful  waterfall. 

It  was  with  real  regret  that  we  left  Algeciras  and  made 
the  short  voyage  across  the  bay  to  Gibraltar,  where  we  in- 
stantly found  ourselves  in  a  place  as  unlike  Spain  as  it  is 
possible  to  imagine.  Upon  the  wharf  you  are  assailed  by 
a  clamour  of  English-speaking  porters  and  boatmen. 


THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR  14! 

Passing  the  gates,  you  come  upon  a  barrack-yard  swarming 
with  tall  British  soldiers,  looking  wonderfully  bright  and 
handsome,  after  the  insignificant  figures  and  soiled,  shabby 
uniforms  of  the  Spanish  army.  Hence  the  Waterport 
Street  opens,  the  principal  thoroughfare  of  the  town, 
though  from  its  insignificant  shops,  with  English  names, 
and  its  low  public-houses,  you  have  to  look  up  at  the  strip 
of  bright  blue  sky  above,  to  be  reminded  that  you  are  not 
in  an  English  seaport. 

Just  outside  the  principal  town,  between  it  and  the 
suburb  of  Europe,  is  the  truly  beautiful  Alameda,  an  im- 
mense artificial  garden,  where  endless  gravel  paths  wind 
through  labyrinths  of  geraniums  and  coronella  and  banks 
of  flame-coloured  ixia,  which  are  all  in  their  full  blaze  of 
beauty  under  the  March  sun,  though  the  heat  causes  them 
to  wither  and  droop  before  May.  During  our  stay  at 
Gibraltar,  it  has  never  ceased  to  surprise  us  that  this 
Alameda,  the  shadiest  and  pleasantest  place  open  to  the 
public  upon  the  Rock,  should  be  almost  deserted ;  but  so 
it  is.  Even  when  the  band  playing  affords  an  additional 
attraction,  there  are  not  a  dozen  persons  to  listen  to  it ; 
whereas  at  Rome  on  such  occasions,  the  Pincio,  exceed- 
ingly inferior  as  a  public  garden,  would  be  crowded  to 
suffocation,  and  always  presents  a  lively  and  animated 
scene. 

One  succession  of  gardens  occupies  the  western  base  of 
the  Rock,  and  most  luxuriant  and  gigantic  are  the  flowers 
that  bloom  in  them.  Castor-oil  plants,  daturas,  and 
daphnes,  here  attain  the  dignity  of  timber,  while  geraniums 


142  THE  ROCK  OF  GIBRALTAR 

and  heliotropes  many  years  old,  so  large  as  to  destoy  all 
the  sense  of  floral  proportions  which  has  hitherto  existed 
in  your  mind.  It  is  a  curious  characteristic,  and  typical  of 
Gibraltar,  that  the  mouth  of  a  cannon  is  frequently  found 
protruding  from  a  thicket  of  flowers. 

The  eastern  side  of  the  Rock,  in  great  part  a  per- 
pendicular precipice,  is  elsewhere  left  uncultivated,  and 
is  wild  and  striking  in  the  highest  degree.  Here,  beyond 
the  quaint  Jewish  cemetery  of  closely  set  gravestones,  bear- 
ing Hebrew  inscriptions  on  the  open  hillside,  a  rugged  path 
winds  through  rocks  and  tangled  masses  of  flowers  and 
palmists,  to  a  curious  stalactitic  cavern  called  Martin's  Cave. 
On  this  side  of  the  clifF  a  remnant  of  the  famous  "  apes 
of  Tarshish  "  is  suffered  to  remain  wild  and  unmolested, 
though  their  numbers,  always  very  small,  have  lately  been 
reduced  by  the  very  ignorant  folly  of  a  young  officer, 
who  shot  one  and  wounded  nine  others,  for  which  he  has 
been  very  properly  impounded. 

On  the  northern  side  of  the  Rock  are  the  famous 
galleries  tunnelled  in  the  face  of  the  precipice,  with  cannon 
pointing  towards  Spain  from  their  embrasures.  Through 
these,  or,  better,  by  delightful  paths,  fringed  with  palmettos 
and  asphodel,  you  may  reach  El  Hacho,  the  signal  station, 
whence  the  view  is  truly  magnificent  over  the  sea,  and  the 
mountain  chains  of  two  continents,  and  down  into  the  blue 
abysses  beneath  the  tremendous  precipice  upon  which  it  is 
placed. 

The  greatest  drawback  to  the  charms  of  Gibraltar  has 
seemed  to  be  the  difficulty  of  leaving  it.  It  is  a  beautiful 


THE  ROCK  OP  GIBRALTAR  H3 

prison.  We  came  fully  intending  to  ride  over  the  moun- 
tain passes  by  Ronda,  but  on  arriving  we  heard  that  the 
whole  of  that  district  was  in  the  hands  of  the  brigands 
under  the  famous  chief  Don  Diego,  and  the  Governor  posi- 
tively refused  to  permit  us  to  go  that  way.  Our 
lamentations  at  this  have  since  been  cut  short  by  the  news 
of  a  double  murder  at  the  hands  of  the  brigands  on  the 
way  we  wished  to  have  taken,  and  at  the  very  time  we 
should  have  taken  it.  So  we  must  go  to  Malaga  by  sea, 
and  wait  for  the  happy  combination  of  a  good  steamer  and 
calm  weather  falling  on  the  same  day. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  I5th  of  March  we  em- 
barked on  board  the  Lisbon  in  the  dockyard  of  Gibraltar. 
It  had  been  a  lovely  day,  and  the  grand  Rock  had  looked 
its  best,  its  every  cleft  filled  with  flowers  and  foliage.  The 
sun  set  before  we  had  rounded  Europe  Point,  and  the  pre- 
cipitous cliffs  of  the  eastern  bay  rose  utterly  black  against 
the  yellow  sky. 

Wanderings  in  Spain  (London,  1873). 


THINGVALLA 

LORD  DUFFERIN 

AT  last  I  have  seen  the  famous  Geysers,  of  which 
every  one  has  heard  so  much ;  but  I  have  also 
seen  Thingvalla,  of  which  no  one  has  heard  anything. 
The  Geysers  are  certainly  wonderful  marvels  of  nature,  but 
more  wonderful,  more  marvellous  is  Thingvalla ;  and  if  the 
one  repay  you  for  crossing  the  Spanish  Sea,  it  would  be 
worth  while  to  go  round  the  world  to  reach  the  other. 

Of  the  boiling  fountains  I  think  I  can  give  you  a  good 
idea,  but  whether  I  can  contrive  to  draw  for  you  anything 
like  a  comprehensible  picture  of  the  shape  and  nature  of 
the  Almanna  Gja,  the  Hrafna  Gja,  and  the  lava  vale,  called 
Thingvalla,  that  lies  between  them,  I  am  doubtful.  Before 
coming  to  Iceland  I  had  read  every  account  that  had  been 
written  of  Thingvalla  by  any  former  traveller,  and  when  I 
saw  it,  it  appeared  to  me  a  place  of  which  I  had  never 
heard ;  so  I  suppose  I  shall  come  to  grief  in  as  mel- 
ancholy a  manner  as  my  predecessors,  whose  ineffectual 
pages  whiten  the  entrance  to  the  valley  they  have  failed  to 
describe. 

After  an  hour's  gradual  ascent  through  a  picturesque 
ravine,  we  emerged  upon  an  immense  desolate  plateau  of 
lava,  that  stretched  away  for  miles  and  miles  like  a  great 


THING  VALLA  145 

stony  sea.  A  more  barren  desert  you  cannot  conceive. 
Innumerable  boulders,  relics  of  the  glacial  period,  encum- 
bered the  track.  We  could  only  go  at  a  foot-pace.  Not 
a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  strip  of  green,  enlivened  the  pros- 
pect, and  the  only  sound  we  heard  was  the  croak  of  the 
curlew  and  the  wail  of  the  plover.  Hour  after  hour  we 
plodded  on,  but  the  grey  waste  seemed  interminable, 
boundless :  and  the  only  consolation  Sigurdr  would  vouch- 
safe was  that  our  journey's  end  lay  on  this  side  of  some 
purple  mountains  that  peeped  like  the  tents  of  a  demon 
leaguer  above  the  stony  horizon. 

As  it  was  already  eight  o'clock,  and  we  had  been  told  the 
entire  distance  from  Reykjavik  to  Thingvalla  was  only  five- 
and-thirty  miles,  I  could  not  comprehend  how  so  great  a 
space  should  still  separate  us  from  our  destination.  Con- 
cluding more  time  had  been  lost  in  shooting,  lunching,  etc., 
by  the  way  than  we  supposed,  I  put  my  pony  into  a  canter, 
and  determined  to  make  short  work  of  the  dozen  miles 
which  seemed  still  to  lie  between  us  and  the  hills,  on  this 
side  of  which  I  understood  from  Sigurdr  our  encampment 
for  the  night  was  to  be  pitched. 

Judge  then  of  my  astonishment  when,  a  few  minutes 
afterwards,  I  was  arrested  in  full  career  by  a  tremendous 
precipice,  or  rather  chasm,  which  suddenly  gaped  beneath 
my  feet,  and  completely  separated  the  barren  plateau  we 
had  been  so  painfully  traversing  from  a  lovely,  gay,  sunlit 
flat,  ten  miles  broad,  that  lay, — sunk  at  a  level  lower  by  a 
hundred  feet, — between  us  and  the  opposite  mountains.  I 
was  never  so  completely  taken  by  surprise;  Sigurdr's 


146  THING  VALLA 

purposely  vague  description  of  our  halting-place  was  ac- 
counted for. 

We  had  reached  the  famous  Almanna  Gja.  Like  a  black 
rampart  in  the  distance,  the  corresponding  chasm  of  the 
Hrafna  Gja  cut  across  the  lower  sloop  of  the  distant  hills, 
and  between  them  now  slept  in  sunshine  and  beauty  the 
broad  verdant  plain1  of  Thingvalla. 

Ages  ago, — who  shall  say  how  long, — some  vast  com- 
motion shook  the  foundations  of  the  island,  and  bubbling 
up  from  sources  far  away  amid  the  inland  hills,  a  fiery  del- 
uge must  have  rushed  down  between  their  ridges,  until, 
escaping  from  the  narrow  gorges,  it  found  space  to  spread 
itself  into  one  broad  sheet  of  molten  stone  over  an  entire 
district  of  country,  reducing  its  varied  surface  to  one  vast 
blackened  level. 

One  of  two  things  then  occurred  :  either  the  vitri- 
fied mass  contracting  as  it  cooled, — the  centre  area  of  fifty 
square  miles  burst  asunder  at  either  side  from  the  adjoining 
plateau,  and  sinking  down  to  its  present  level,  left  the  two 
paralleled  Gjas,  or  chasms,  which  form  its  lateral  boundaries, 
to  mark  the  limits  of  the  disruption  ;  or  else,  while  the 
pith  or  marrow  of  the  lava  was  still  in  a  fluid  state,  its 
upper  surface  became  solid,  and  formed  a  roof  beneath 
which  the  molten  stream  flowed  on  to  lower  levels,  leaving 
a  vast  cavern  into  which  the  upper  crust  subsequently 
plumped  down. 

But  to  return  where  I  left  myself,  on  the  edge  of  the 

1  The  plain  of  Thingvalla  is  in  a  great  measure  clothed  with  birch 
brushwood. 


THING  VALLA  147 

cliff,  gazing  down  with  astonished  eyes  over  a  panorama 
of  land  and  water  imbedded  at  my  feet.  I  could  scarcely 
speak  for  pleasure  and  surprise  ;  Fitz  was  equally  taken 
aback,  and  as  for  Wilson,  he  looked  as  if  he  thought  we 
had  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  world.  After  having  allowed 
us  sufficient  time  to  admire  the  prospect,  Sigurdr  turned  to 
the  left,  along  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  until  we  reached  a 
narrow  pathway  accidentally  formed  down  a  longitudinal 
niche  in  the  splintered  face  of  the  cliff,  which  led  across 
the  bottom,  and  up  the  opposite  side  of  the  Gja,  into  the 
plain  of  Thingvalla. 

Independently  of  its  natural  curiosities,  Thingvalla  was 
most  interesting  to  me  on  account  of  the  historical  asso- 
ciations connected  with  it.  Here,  long  ago,  at  a  period 
when  feudal  despotism  was  the  only  government  known 
throughout  Europe,  free  parliaments  used  to  sit  in  peace,  and 
regulate  the  affairs  of  the  young  Republic ;  and  to  this  hour 
the  precincts  of  its  Commons  House  of  Parliament  are  as 
distinct  and  unchanged  as  on  the  day  when  the  high-hearted 
fathers  of  the  emigration  first  consecrated  them  to  the  serv- 
ice of  a  free  nation.  By  a  freak  of  nature,  as  the  subsid- 
ing plain  cracked  and  shivered  into  twenty  thousand  fissures, 
an  irregular  oval  area,  of  about  two  hundred  feet  by  fifty, 
was  left  almost  entirely  surrounded  by  a  crevice  so  deep 
and  broad  as  to  be  utterly  impassable ; — at  one  extremity 
alone  a  scanty  causeway  connected  it  with  the  adjoining 
level,  and  allowed  of  access  to  its  interior.  It  is  true,  just 
at  one  point  the  encircling  chasm  grows  so  narrow  as  to  be 
within  the  possibility  of  a  jump ;  and  an  ancient  worthy, 


148  THING  VALLA 

named  Flosi,  pursued  by  his  enemies,  did  actually  take  it  at  a 
fly  :  but  as  leaping  an  inch  short  would  have  entailed  certain 
drowning  in  the  bright  green  waters  that  sleep  forty  feet  be- 
low, you  can  conceive  there  was  never  much  danger  of  this 
entrance  becoming  a  thoroughfare.  I  confess  that  for  one 
moment,  while  contemplating  the  scene  of  Flosi's  exploit, 
I  felt,  like  a  true  Briton, — an  idiotic  desire  to  be  able  to  say 
that  I  had  done  the  same  ; — that  I  survive  to  write  this  letter 
is  a  proof  of  my  having  come  subsequently  to  my  senses. 

This  spot,  then,  erected  by  nature  almost  into  a  fortress, 
the  founders  of  the  Icelandic  constitution  chose  for  the 
meetings  of  their  Thing,  or  Parliament ;  armed  guards  de- 
fended the  entrance,  while  the  grave  bonders  deliberated  in 
security  within  :  to  this  day,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  place 
of  meeting,  may  be  seen  the  three  hummocks,  where  sat  in 
state  the  chiefs  and  judges  of  the  land. 

But  th'ose  grand  old  times  have  long  since  passed  away. 
Along  the  banks  of  the  Oxeraa  no  longer  glisten  the  tents 
and  booths  of  the  assembled  lieges ;  no  longer  stalwart 
berserks  guard  the  narrow  entrance  to  the  Althing  ;  ravens 
alone  sit  on  the  sacred  Logberg ;  and  the  floor  of  the  old 
Icelandic  House  of  Commons  is  ignominiously  cropped  by 
the  sheep  of  the  parson.  For  three  hundred  years  did  the 
gallant  little  Republic  maintain  its  independence — three 
hundred  years  of  unequalled  literary  and  political  vigour. 
At  last  its  day  of  doom  drew  near.  Like  the  Scotch  nobles 
in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  their  own  chieftains  intrigued 
against  the  liberties  of  the  Icelandic  people;  and  in  1261 
the  island  became  an  appendage  of  the  Norwegian  crown. 


THING  VALLA  149 

Yet  even  then  the  deed  embodying  the  concession  of  their 
independence  was  drawn  up  in  such  haughty  terms  as  to 
resemble  rather  the  offer  of  an  equal  alliance  than  the  re- 
nunciation of  imperial  rights. 

As  I  gazed  around  on  the  silent,  deserted  plain,  and 
paced  to  and  fro  along  the  untrodden  grass  that  now  clothed 
the  Althing,  I  could  scarcely  believe  it  had  ever  been  the 
battle-field  where  such  keen  and  energetic  wits  encoun- 
tered,— that  the  fire-scathed  rocks  I  saw  before  me  were 
the  very  same  that  had  once  inspired  one  of  the  most  suc- 
cessful rhetorical  appeals  ever  hazarded  in  a  public  assem- 
bly. 

From  the  Althing  we  strolled  over  to  the  Almanna  Gja, 
visiting  the  Pool  of  Execution  on  our  way.  As  I  have 
already  mentioned,  a  river  from  the  plateau  above  leaps 
over  the  precipice  into  the  bottom  of  the  Gja,  and  flows 
for  a  certain  distance  between  its  walls.  At  the  foot  of 
the  fall,  the  waters  linger  for  a  moment,  in  a  dark,  deep, 
brimming  pool,  hemmed  in  by  a  circle  of  ruined  rocks  ;  to 
this  pool,  in  ancient  times,  all  women  convicted  of  capital 
crimes  were  immediately  taken,  and  drowned.  Witchcraft 
seems'  to  have  been  the  principal  weakness  of  ladies  in 
those  days,  throughout  the  Scandinavian  countries.  For  a 
long  period,  no  disgrace  was  attached  to  its  profession. 
Odin  himself,  we  are  expressly  told,  was  a  great  adept,  and 
always  found  himself  very  much  exhausted  at  the  end  of 
his  performance  ;  which  leads  me  to  think  that,  perhaps,  he 
dabbled  in  electro-biology. 

Turning  aside  from  what',  I    dare  say,  was   the  scene  of 


150  THINGVALLA 

many  an  unrecorded  tragedy,  we  descended  the  gorge  of  the 
Almanna  Gja,  towards  the  lake  ;  and  I  took  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  again  to  examine  its  marvellous  construction. 
The  perpendicular  walls  of  rock  rose  on  either  hand  from 
the  flat  greensward  that  carpeted  its  bottom,  pretty  much 
as  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea  must  have  risen  on  each  side 
of  the  fugitive  Israelites.  A  blaze  of  light  smote  the  face 
of  one  clifF,  while  the  other  lay  in  the  deepest  shadow ; 
and  on  the  rugged  surface  of  each  might  still  be  traced  cor- 
responding articulations,  that  once  had  dovetailed  into  each 
other,  ere  the  igneous  mass  was  rent  asunder.  So  un- 
changed, so  recent  seemed  the  vestiges  of  this  convulsion, 
that  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  admitted  to  witness  one  of 
nature's  grandest  and  most  violent  operations,  almost  in  the 
very  act  of  its  execution.  A  walk  of  about  twenty  min- 
utes brought  us  to  the  borders  of  the  lake — a  glorious  ex- 
panse of  water,  fifteen  miles  long,  by  eight  miles  broad, 
occupying  a  basin  formed  by  the  same  hills,  which  must 
also,  I  imagine,  have  arrested  the  further  progress  of  the 
lava  torrent.  A  lovelier  scene  I  have  seldom  witnessed. 
In  the  foreground  lay  huge  masses  of  rock  and  lava, 
tossed  about  like  the  ruins  of  a  world,  and  washed  by 
waters  as  bright  and  green  as  polished  malachite.  Beyond, 
a  bevy  of  distant  mountains,  robed  by  the  transparent  atmos- 
phere in  tints  unknown  to  Europe,  peeped  over  each  other's 
shoulders  into  the  silver  mirror  at  their  feet,  while  here  and 
there  from  among  their  purple  ridges  columns  of  white 
vapour  rose  like  altar  smoke  towards  the  tranquil  heaven. 
The  next  morning  we  started  for  the  Geysers  •,  this  time 


THINGVALLA  151 

dividing  the  baggage-train,  and  sending  on  the  cook  in  light 
marching  order,  with  the  materials  for  dinner.  The 
weather  still  remained  unclouded,  and  each  mile  we  ad- 
vanced disclosed  some  new  wonder  in  the  unearthly  land- 
scape. A  three  hours'  ride  brought  us  to  the  Rabna  Gja, 
the  eastern  boundary  of  Thingvalla,  and,  winding  up  its 
rugged  face,  we  took  our  last  look  over  the  lovely  plain 
beneath  us,  and  then  manfully  set  across  the  same  kind  of 
arid  lava  plateau  as  that  which  we  had  already  traversed 
before  arriving  at  the  Almanna  Gja. 

Letters  from  High  Latitude,  being  some  account  of  a  voyage 
in  the  schooner  yacht  Foam  in  1856  (London,  1859). 


LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK 

JOHN  AYRTON  PARIS 

"  The  sunbeams  tremble,  and  the  purple  light 
Illumes  the  dark  Bolerium  ; — seat  of  storms, 
High  are  his  granite  rocks  ;  his  frowning  brow 
Hangs  o'er  the  smiling  ocean.     In  his  caves, 
Where  sleep  the  haggard  spirits  of  the  storm, 
Wild  dreary  are  the  schistose  rocks  around, 
Encircled  by  the  waves,  where  to  the  breeze 
The  haggard  cormorant  shrieks ;  and  far  beyond 
Are  seen  the  cloud-like  islands,  grey  in  mists." 

SIR  H.  DAVY. 

IN  an  excursion  to  the  Land's  End  the  traveller  will  meet 
with  several  intermediate  objects  well  worthy  his  at- 
tention, more  worthy,  perhaps,  than  the  celebrated  promon- 
tory itself,  as  being  monuments  of  the  highest  antiquity  in 
the  kingdom.  They  consist  of  Druidical  circles,  cairns, 
or  circular  heaps  of  stones,  cromlechs,  crosses,  military 
entrenchments,  and  the  obsure  remains  of  castles. 

Having  arrived  at  the  celebrated  promontory,  we  descend 
a  rapid  slope,  which  brings  us  to  a  bold  group  of  rocks, 
composing  the  western  extremity  of  our  island.  Some 
years  ago  a  military  officer  who  visited  this  spot,  was  rash 
enough  to  descend  on  horseback ;  the  horse  soon  became 
unruly,  plunged,  reared,  and,  fearful  to  relate,  fell  back- 
wards over  the  precipice,  and  rolling  from  rock  to  rock  was 


LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK       153 

dashed  to  atoms  before  it  reached  the  sea.  The  rider  was 
for  some  time  unable  to  disengage  himself,  but  at  length  by 
a  desperate  effort  he  threw  himself  off,  and  was  happily 
caught  by  some  fragments  of  rock,  at  the  very  brink  of 
the  precipice,  where  he  remained  in  a  state  of  insensibility 
until  assistance  could  be  afforded  him  !  The  awful  spot  is 
marked  by  the  figure  of  a  horseshoe,  traced  on  the  turf 
with  a  deep  incision,  which  is  cleared  out  from  time  to 
time,  in  order  to  preserve  it  as  a  monument  of  rashness 
which  could  alone  be  equalled  by  the  good  fortune  with 
which  it  was  attended. 

Why  any  promontory  in  an  island  should  be  exclusively 
denominated  the  Land's  End,  it  is  difficult  to  understand ; 
yet  so  powerful  is  the  charm  of  a  name,  that  many  persons 
have  visited  it  on  no  other  account ;  the  intelligent  tourist, 
however,  will  receive  a  much  more  substantial  gratification 
from  his  visit ;  the  great  geological  interest  of  the  spot  will 
afford  him  an  ample  source  of  entertainment  and  instruc- 
tion, while  the  magnificence  of  its  convulsed  scenery,  the 
ceaseless  roar,  and  deep  intonation  of  the  ocean,  and  the 
wild  shrieks  of  the  cormorant,  all  combine  to  awaken  the 
blended  sensations  of  awe  and  admiration. 

The  cliff  which  bounds  this  extremity  is  rather  abrupt 
than  elevated,  not  being  more  than  sixty  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  It  is  composed  entirely  of  granite,  the 
forms  of  which  present  a  very  extraordinary  appearance, 
assuming  in  some  places  the  resemblance  of  shafts  that  had 
been  regularly  cut  with  the  chisel ;  in  others,  regular  equi- 
distant fissures  divide  the  rock  into  horizontal  masses,  and 


154        LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK 

give  it  the  character  of  basaltic  columns  ;  in  other  places, 
again,  the  impetuous  waves  of  the  ocean  have  opened,  for 
their  retreat,  gigantic  arches,  through  which  the  angry  bil- 
lows roll  and  bellow  with  tremendous  fury. 

Several  of  these  rocks  from  their  grotesque  forms  have 
acquired  whimsical  appellations,  as  that  of  the  Armed  Knight, 
the  Irish  Lady,  etc.  An  inclining  rock  on  the  side  of  a 
craggy  headland,  south  of  the  Land's  End,  has  obtained  the 
name  of  Dr.  Johnson's  Head,  and  visitors  after  having  heard 
the  appellation  seldom  fail  to  acknowledge  that  it  bears 
some  resemblance  to  the  physiognomy  of  that  extraordi- 
nary man. 

On  the  north,  this  rocky  scene  is  terminated  by  a  prom- 
ontory 229  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  called  Cape  Corn- 
wall, between  which  and  the  Land's  End,  the  coast  retires, 
and  forms  Whitesand  Bay ;  a  name  which  it  derives  from  the 
peculiar  whiteness  of  the  sand,  and  amongst  which  the 
naturalist  will  find  several  rare  microscopic  shells.  There 
are,  besides,  some  historical  recollections  which  invest  this 
spot  with  interest.  It  was  in  this  bay  that  Stephen  landed 
on  his  first  arrival  in  England  ;  as  did  King  John,  on  his 
return  from  Ireland ;  and  Perkin  Warbeck,  in  the  prosecu- 
tion of  those  claims  to  the  Crown  to  which  some  late  writers 
have  been  disposed  to  consider  that  he  was  entitled,  as  the 
real  son  of  Edward  the  Fourth.  In  the  rocks  near  the 
southern  termination  of  Wbitesand  Bay  may  be  seen  the 
junction  of  the  granite  and  slate;  large  veins  of  the 
former  may  also  be  observed  to  traverse  the  latter  in  all 
directions. 


LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK  155 

We  now  return  to  the  Land's  End, — from  which  we 
should  proceed  to  visit  a  promontory  called  "  Castle 
Treryn,"  where  is  situated  the  celebrated  "  Logan  Stone." 
If  we  pursue  our  route  along  the  cliffs,  it  will  be  found  to 
be  several  miles  southeast  of  the  Land's  End,  although  by 
taking  the  direct  and  usual  road  across  the  country,  it  is  not 
more  than  two  miles  distant ;  but  the  geologist  must  walk, 
or  ride  along  the  coast  on  horseback,  and  we  can  assure 
him  that  he  will  be  amply  recompensed  for  his  trouble. 

From  the  Cape  on  which  the  signal  station  is  situated, 
the  rock  scenery  is  particularly  magnificent,  exhibiting  an 
admirable  specimen  of  the  manner,  and  forms,  into  which 
granite  disintegrates.  About  forty  yards  from  this  Cape  is 
the  promontory  called  Tol-Pedn-Penwith,  which  in  the 
Cornish  language  signifies  the  holed  headland  in  Penwith. 
The  name  is  derived  from  a  singular  chasm,  known  by  the 
appellation  of  the  Funnel  Rock ;  it  is  a  vast  perpendicular 
excavation  in  the  granite,  resembling  in  figure  an  inverted 
cone,  and  has  been  evidently  produced  by  the  gradual  de- 
composition of  one  of  those  vertical  veins  with  which  this 
part  of  the  coast  is  so  frequently  intersected.  By  a  circui- 
tous route  you  may  descend  to  the  bottom  of  the  cavern, 
into  which  the  sea  flows  at  high  water.  Here  the  Cornish 
chough  ( Corvus  Graculus)  has  built  its  nest  for  several  years, 
a  bird  which  is  very  common  about  the  rocky  parts  of  this 
coast,  and  may  be  distinguished  by  its  red  legs  and  bill,  and 
the  violaceous  blackness  of  its  feathers.  This  promontory 
forms  the  western  extremity  of  the  Mount's  Bay.  The 
antiquary  will  discover  in  this  spot,  the  vestiges  of  one  of 


156         LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK 

the  ancient  "  Cliff  Castles,"  which  were  little  else  than 
stone  walls,  stretching  across  necks  of  land  from  cliff  to 
cliff.  The  only  geological  phenomenon  worthy  of  particu- 
lar notice  is  a  large  and  beautiful  contemporaneous  vein  of 
red  granite  containing  schorl ;  is  one  foot  in  width,  and  may 
be  seen  for  about  forty  feet  in  length. 

Continuing  our  route  around  the  coast  we  at  length  ar- 
rive at  Castle  Treryn.  Its  name  is  derived  from  the  sup- 
position of  its  having  been  the  site  of  an  ancient  British 
fortress,  of  which  there  are  still  some  obscure  traces, 
although  the  wild  and  rugged  appearance  of  the  rocks  in- 
dicate nothing  like  art. 

The  foundation  of  the  whole  is  a  stupendous  group  of 
granite  rocks,  which  rise  in  pyramidal  clusters  to  a  pro- 
digious altitude,  and  overhang  the  sea.  On  one  of  those 
pyramids  is  situated  the  celebrated  "  Logan  Stone,"  which 
is  an  immense  block  of  granite  weighing  about  sixty  tons. 
The  surface  in  contact  with  the  under  rock  is  of  very 
small  extent,  and  the  whole  mass  is  so  nicely  balanced, 
that,  notwithstanding  its  magnitude,  the  strength  of  a  single 
man  applied  to  its  under  edge  is  sufficient  to  change  its 
centre  of  gravity,  and  though  at  first  in  a  degree  scarcely 
perceptible,  yet  the  repetition  of  such  impulses,  at  each  re- 
turn of  the  stone,  produces  at  length  a  very  sensible 
oscillation!  As  soon  as.  the  astonishment  which  this 
phenomenon  excites  has  in  some  measure  subsided,  the 
stranger  anxiously  inquires  how,  and  whence  the  stone 
originated — was  it  elevated  by  human  means,  or  was  it 
produced  by  the  agency  of  natural  causes  ?  Those  who 


LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK        157 

are  in  the  habit  of  viewing  mountain  masses  with  geolog- 
ical eyes,  will  readily  discover  that  the  only  chisel  ever  em- 
ployed has  been  the  tooth  of  time — the  only  artist  engaged, 
the  elements.  Granite  usually  disintegrates  into  rhomboidal 
and  tabular  masses,  which  by  the  farther  operation  of  air 
and  moisture  gradually  lose  their  solid  angles,  and  approach 
the  spheroidal  form.  De  Luc  observed,  in  the  giant  moun- 
tains of  Silesia,  spheroids  of  this  description  so  piled  upon 
each  other  as  to  resemble  Dutch  cheeses ;  and  appearances, 
no  less  illustrative  of  the  phenomenon,  may  be  seen  from 
the  signal  station  to  which  we  have  just  alluded.  The  fact 
of  the  upper  part  of  the  cliff  being  more  exposed  to  at- 
mospheric agency,  than  the  parts  beneath,  will  sufficiently 
explain  why  these  rounded  masses  so  frequently  rest  on 
blocks  which  still  preserve  the  tabular  form ;  and  since 
such  spheroidal  blocks  must  obviously  rest  in  that  position 
in  which  their  lesser  axes  are  perpendicular  to  the  horizon, 
it  is  equally  evident  that  whenever  an  adequate  force  is  ap- 
plied they  must  vibrate  on  their  point  of  support. 

Although  we  are  thus  led  to  deny  the  Druidical  origin  of 
this  stone,  for  which  so  many  zealous  antiquaries  have  con- 
tended, still  we  by  no  means  intend  to  deny  that  the  Druids 
employed  it  as  an  engine  of  superstition  ;  it  is  indeed  very 
probable  that,  having  observed  so  uncommon  a  property, 
they  dexterously  contrived  to  make  it  answer  the  purposes 
of  an  ordeal,  and  by  regarding  it  as  the  touchstone  of  truth, 
acquitted  or  condemned  the  accused  by  its  motions.  Mason 
poetically  alludes  to  this  supposed  property  in  the  following 
lines : 


158        LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK 

"  Behold  yon  huge 

And  unknown  sphere  of  living  adamant, 
Which,  pois'd  by  magic,  rests  its  central  weight 
On  yonder  pointed  rock :  firm  as  it  seems, 
Such  is  its  strange,  and  virtuous  property, 
It  moves  obsequious  to  the  gentlest  touch 
Of  him  whose  heart  is  pure,  but  to  a  traitor, 
Tho'  e'en  a  giant's  prowess  nerv'd  his  arm, 
It  stands  as  fix'd  as — Snowdon." 

The  rocks  are  covered  with  a  species  of  Byssus  long  and 
rough  to  the  touch,  forming  a  kind  of  hoary  beard;  in 
many  places  they  are  deeply  furrowed,  carrying  with  them 
a  singular  air  of  antiquity,  which  combines  with  the  whole 
of  the  romantic  scenery  to  awaken  in  the  minds  of  the 
poet  and  enthusiast  the  recollection  of  the  Druidical  ages. 
The  botanist  will  observe  the  common  Thrift  (Statice 
Armerid)  imparting  a  glowing  tinge  to  the  scanty  vegeta- 
tion of  the  spot,  and,  by  growing  within  the  crevices  of 
the  rocks,  affording  a  very  picturesque  contrast  to  their 
massive  fabric.  Here,  too,  the  Daucus  Maritimus,  or  wild 
carrot ;  Sedum  Telephium^  Saxifraga  Stellaris,  and  Asplenium 
Marinum,  may  be  found  in  abundance. 

The  granite  in  this  spot  is  extremely  beautiful  on  ac- 
count of  its  porphyritic  appearance  ;  the  crystals  of  feldspar 
are  numerous  and  distinct ;  in  some  places  the  rock  is 
traversed  by  veins  of  red  feldspar,  and  of  black  tourmaline, 
or  schorl,  of  which  the  crystalline  forms  of  the  prisms,  on 
account  of  their  close  aggregation,  are  very  indistinct. 
Here  may  also  be  observed  a  contemporaneous  vein  of 
schorl  rock  in  the  granite,  nearly  two  feet  wide,  highly  in- 
clined and  very  short,  and  not  having  any  distinct  walls. 


LAND'S  END  AND  LOGAN  ROCK         159 

On  the  western  side  of  the  Logan  Rock  is  a  cavern, 
formed  by  the  decomposition  of  a  vein  of  granite,  the 
feldspar  of  which  assumes  a  brilliant  flesh-red  and  lilac 
colour;  and,  where  it  is  polished  by  the  sea,  exceeding 
even  in  beauty  the  Serpentine  caverns  at  the  Lizard. 

A  Guide  to  the  Mount's  Bay  and  the  Land's  End  (London, 
2d  Ed.,  1824). 


MOUNT  HEKLA1 

SIR  RICHARD  F.  BURTON 

THE  Hekla  of  our  ingenuous  childhood,  when  we  be- 
lieved in  the  "Seven  Wonders  of  the  World,"  was 
a  mighty  cone,  a  "  pillar  of  heaven,"  upon  whose  dreadful 
summit  white,  black,  and  sanguine  red  lay  in  streaks  and 
patches,  with  volumes  of  sooty  smoke  and  lurid  flames, 
and  a  pitchy  sky.  The  whole  was  somewhat  like  the  im- 
possible illustrations  of  Vesuvian  eruptions,  in  body-colours, 
plus  the  ice  proper  to  Iceland.  The  Hekla  of  reality,  No.  5 
in  the  island  scale,  is  a  commonplace  heap,  half  the  height 
of  Hermon,  and  a  mere  pigmy  compared  with  the  Andine 
peaks,  rising  detached  from  the  plains,  about  three  and  a 
half  miles  in  circumference,  backed  by  the  snows  of 
Tindafjall  and  Torfajokull,  and  supporting  a  sky-line  that 
varies  greatly  with  the  angle  under  which  it  is  seen. 
Travellers  usually  make  it  a  three-horned  Parnassus,  with 
the  central  knob  highest — which  is  not  really  the  case. 
From  the  south-west,  it  shows  now  four,  then  five,  distinct 

1  Heklu-fjall  derives  from  Hekla  (akin  to  Hokull,  a  priest's  cope),  mean- 
ing a  cowled  or  hooded  frock,  knitted  of  various  colours,  and  applied  to 
the  "  Vesuvius  of  the  North  "  from  its  cap  and  body  vest  of  snow. 
Icelanders  usually  translate  it  a  chasuble,  because  its  rounded  black 
shoulders  bear  stripes  of  white,  supposed  to  resemble  the  cross  carried  to 
Calvary. 


MOUNT  HEKLA  l6l 

points ;  the  north-western  lip  of  the  northern  crater,  which 
hides  the  true  apex;  the  south-western  lip  of  the  same;  the 
north-eastern  lip  of  the  southern  crater,  which  appears  the 
culminating  point,  and  the  two  eastern  edges  of  the  south- 
ern bowls.  A  pair  of  white  patches  represents  the  "eternal 
snows."  On  the  right  of  the  picture  is  the  steep,  but 
utterly  unimportant  Thrihyrningr,  crowned  with  its  bench- 
mark; to  the  left,  the  Skardsfjall,  variegated  green  and 
black ;  and  in  the  centre,  the  Bjolfell,  a  western  buttress  of 
the  main  building,  which  becomes  alternately  a  saddleback, 
a  dorsum,  and  an  elephant's  head,  trunk,  and  shoulders. 

We  came  upon  the  valley  of  the  Western  Ranga l  at  a 
rough  point,  a  gash  in  the  hard  yellow  turf-clad  clay,  dotted 
with  rough  lava  blocks,  and  with  masses  of  conglomerate, 
hollowed,  turned,  and  polished  by  water:  the  shape  was  a 
succession  of  S,  and  the  left  side  was  the  more  tormented. 
Above  the  ford  a  dwarf  cascade  had  been  formed  by  the 
lava  of  '45,  which  caused  the  waters  to  boil,  and  below  the 
ford  jumped  a  second,  where  the  stream  forks.  We  then 
entered  an  Iceland  "  forest,"  at  least  four  feet  high ;  the 
"  chapparal  "  was  composed  of  red  willow  (Salix  purpurea), 
of  Gra-vidir,  woolly-leaved  willow  (Sulix  lapponuni),  the 
"  tree  under  which  the  devil  flayed  the  goats " — a 
diabolical  difficulty,  when  the  bush  is  a  foot  high — and  the 
awful  and  venerable  birch,  "/«  demoiselle  des  fbrets"  which 
has  so  often  "blushed  with  patrician  blood."  About  mid- 

1  Ranga  ("wrong,"  or  crooked  stream)  is  a  name  that  frequently  oc- 
curs, and  generally  denotes  either  that  the  trend  is  opposed  to  the  general 
water-shed,  or  that  an  angle  has  been  formed  in  the  bed  by  earthquakes 
or  eruptions. 


1 62  MOUNT  HEKLA 

afternoon  we  reached  Naefrholt  (birch-bark  hill),  the 
"  fashionable "  place  for  the  ascent,  and  we  at  once  in- 
quired for  the  guide.  Upon  the  carpe  diem  principle,  he 
had  gone  to  Reykjavik  with  the  view  of  drinking  his  late 
gains;  but  we  had  time  to  organize  another,  and  even 
alpenstocks  with  rings  and  spikes  are  to  be  found  at  the 
farm-house.  Everything  was  painfully  tourist. 

In  the  evening  we  scaled  the  stiff  slope  of  earth  and 
Palagonite  which  lies  behind,  or  east  of  Naefrholt ;  this 
crupper  of  Bjolfell,  the  Elephant  Mountain,  gives  perhaps 
harder  work. than  any  part  of  Hekla  on  the  normal  line  of 
ascent.  From  the  summit  we  looked  down  upon  a  dwarf 
basin,  with  a  lakelet  of  fresh  water,  which  had  a  slightly 
(carbonic)  acid  taste,  and  which  must  have  contained  lime, 
as  we  found  two  kinds  of  shells,  both  uncommonly  thin 
and  fragile.  Three  species  of  weeds  floated  off  the  clean 
sandstrips.  Walking  northward  to  a  deserted  byre,  we 
found  the  drain  gushing  under  ground  from  sand  and  rock, 
forming  a  distinct  river-valley,  and  eventually  feeding  the 
Western  Ranga.  This  "Vatn"  is  not  in  the  map;  though 
far  from  certain  that  it  is  not  mentioned  by  Mackenzie,  we 
named  it  the  "  Unknown  Lake."  Before  night  fell  we  re- 
ceived a  message  that  three  English  girls  and  their  party 
proposed  to  join  us.  This  was  a  "  scare,"  but  happily  the 
Miss  Hopes  proved  plucky  as  they  were  young  and  pretty, 
and  we  rejoiced  in  offering  this  pleasant  affront  of  the 
feminine  foot  to  that  grim  old  solitaire^  Father  Hekla. 

Before  the  sleep  necessary  to  prepare  for  the  next  day's 
work,  I  will  offer  a  few  words  concerning  the  "  Etna  of 


MOUNT  HEKLA  163 

the  North,"  sparing  the  reader,  however,  the  mortification 
of  a  regular  history.  It  was  apparently  harmless,  possibly 
dormant,  till  A.  D.  1104,  when  Saemund,  the  "  Paris  clerk," 
then  forty-eight  years  old,  threw  in  a  casket,  and  awoke 
the  sleeping  lion.  Since  that  time  fourteen  regular  erup- 
tions, without  including  partial  outbreaks  are  recorded, 
giving  an  average  of  about  two  per  century.  The  last  was 
in  1845.  The  air  at  Reykjavik  was  flavoured,  it  is  said, 
like  a  gun  that  wants  washing ;  and  the  sounds  of  a  distant 
battle  were  conducted  by  the  lava  and  basaltic  ground. 
The  ashes  extended  to  Scotland.  When  some  writers  tell 
us  that  on  this  occasion  Hekla  lost  500  feet  in  height,  "  so 
much  of  the  summit  having  been  blown  away  by  the  ex- 
plosions," they  forget  or  ignore  the  fact  that  the  new  crater 
opened  laterally  and  low  down. 

Like  Etna,  Vesuvius,  and  especially  Stromboli,  Hekla 
became  mythical  in  Middle-Age  Europe,  and  gained  wide 
repute  as  one  of  the  gates  of  "  Hel-viti."  Witches'  Sab- 
baths were  held  there.  The  spirits  of  the  wicked,  driven 
by  those  grotesque  demons  of  Father  Pinamonti  which 
would  make  the  fortune  of  a  zoological  society,  were  seen 
trooping  into  the  infernal  crater;  and  such  facts  as  these  do 
not  readily  slip  off  the  mind  of  man.  The  Danes  still  say 
"  Begone  to  Heckenfjaeld  !  "  the  North  Germans,  "  Go  to 
Hackelberg  !  "  and  the  Scotch  consign  you  to  "  John 
Hacklebirnie's  house."  Even  Goldsmith  (Animated 
Nature,  i.  48)  had  heard  of  the  local  creed,  "  The  inhabi- 
tants of  Iceland  believe  the  bellowings  of  Hekla  are  noth- 
ing else  but  the  cries  of  the  damned,  and  that  its  eruptions 


164  MOUNT  HEKLA 

are  contrived  to  increase  their  tortures."  Uno  Van  Troil 
(Letter  I.)  who  in  1770,  together  with  those  "  inclyti  Brit- 
tannici,"  Baron  Bank  and  Dr.  Solander,  "  gained  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  the  first  who  ever  reached  the  summit  of  this 
celebrated  volcano,"  attributes  the  mountain's  virginity  to 
the  superstitions  of  the  people.  He  writes  soberly  about  its 
marvels;  and  he  explains  its  high  fame  by  its  position, 
skirting  the  watery  way  to  and  from  Greenland  and 
North  America.  His  companions  show  less  modesty  of 
imagination.  We  may  concede  that  an  unknown  ascent 
"required  great  circumspection  "  ;  and  that  in  a  high  wind 
ascensionists  were  obliged  to  lie  down.  But  how  explain 
the  "  dread  of  being  blown  into  the  most  dreadful  preci- 
pices," when  the  latter  do  not  exist  ?  Moreover,  we  learn 
that  to  "  accomplish  this  undertaking  "  they  had  to  travel 
from  300  to  360  miles  over  uninterrupted  bursts  of  lava, 
which  is  more  than  the  maximum  length  of  the  island,  from 
northeast  to  southwest.  As  will  be  seen,  modern  travellers 
have  followed  suit  passing  well. 

The  next  morning  (July  13)  broke  fair  and  calm,  re- 
minding me 

"  Del  bel  paese  la  dove  il  si  suona" 

The  Miss  Hopes  were  punctual  to  a  minute — an  excel- 
lent thing  in  travelling  womanhood.  We  rode  up  half-way 
somewhat  surprised  to  find  so  few  parasitic  craters ;  the 
only  signs  of  independent  eruption  on  the  western  flank 
were  the  Raudkolar  (red  hills),  as  the  people  call  their  lava 
hornitos  and  spiracles,  which  are  little  bigger  than  the 
bottle-house  cones  of  Leith. 


MOUNT  HEKLA  165 

At  an  impassable  divide  we  left  our  poor  nags  to  pass  the 
dreary  time,  without  water  or  forage,  and  we  followed  the 
improvised  guide,  who  caused  not  a  little  amusement.  His 
general  port  was  that  of  a  bear  that  has  lost  its  ragged  staff. — 
I  took  away  his  alpenstock  for  one  of  the  girls — and  he 
was  plantigrade  rather  than  cremnobatic ;  he  had  stripped 
to  his  underalls,  which  were  very  short,  whilst  his  stockings 
were  very  long  and  the  heraldic  gloves  converted  his  hands 
to  paws.  The  two  little  snow  fonds  ("  steep  glassy  slopes 
of  hard  snow  "),  were  the  easiest  of  walking.  We  had 
nerved  ourselves  to  "  Break  neck  or  limbs,  be  maimed  or 
boiled  alive,"  but  we  looked  in  vain  for  the  "  concealed 
abysses,"  for  the  u  crevasses  to  be  crossed,"  and  for  places 
where  a  "  slip  would  be  to  roll  to  destruction."  We  did 
not  sight  the  "  lava  wall,"  a  capital  protection  against  giddi- 
ness. The  snow  was  anything  but  slippery ;  the  surface 
was  scattered  with  dust,  and  it  bristled  with  a  forest  of 
dwarf  earth-pillars,  where  blown  volcanic  sand  preserved 
the  ice.  After  a  slow  hour  and  a  half,  we  reached  the  cra- 
ter of  '45,  which  opened  at  9  A.  M.  on  September  2,  and 
discharged  lava  till  the  end  of  November.  It  might  be 
passed  unobserved  by  the  inexperienced  man.  The  only 
remnant  is  the  upper  lip  prolonged  to  the  right ;  the  dimen- 
sions may  have  been  120  by  150  yards,  and  the  cleft  shows 
a  projecting  ice-ledge  ready  to  fall.  The  feature  is  well- 
marked  by  the  new  lava-field  of  which  it  is  the  source  :  the 
bristly  "stone-river"  is  already  degrading  to  superficial 
dust  A  little  beyond  this  bowl  the  ground  smokes,  dis- 
charging snow-steam  made  visible  by  the  cold  air.  Hence 


1 66  MOUNT  HEKLA 

doubtless  those  sententious  travellers  "  experienced  at  one 
and  the  same  time,  a  high  degree  of  heat  and  cold." 

Fifteen  minutes  more  led  us  to  the  First  or  Southern 
Crater,  whose  Ol-bogi  (elbow  or  rim)  is  one  of  the  horns 
conspicuous  from  below.  It  is  a  regular  formation  about 
100  yards  at  the  bottom  each  way,  with  the  right  (east)  side 
red  and  cindery,  and  the  left  yellow  and  sulphury  ;  mosses 
and  a  few  flowerets  grow  on  the  lips  ;  in  the  sole  rise  jets 
of  steam  and  a  rock-rib  bisects  it  diagonally  from  northeast 
to  southwest.  We  thought  it  the  highest  point  of  the  vol- 
cano, but  the  aneriod  corrected  our  mistake. 

From  the  First  Crater  we  walked  over  the  left  or  western 
dorsum,  over  which  one  could  drive  a  coach,  and  we  con- 
gratulated one  another  upon  the  exploit.  Former  travellers 
11  balancing  themselves  like  rope-dancers,  succeeded  in  pass- 
ing along  the  ridge  of  slags  which  was  so  narrow  that  there 
was  scarcely  room  for  their  feet,"  the  breadth  being  "  not 
more  than  two  feet,  having  a  precipice  on  each  side  several 
hundred  feet  in  depth."  Charity  suggests  that  the  feature 
has  altered,  but  there  was  no  eruption  between  1766  and 
1845  ;  moreover,  the  lip  would  have  diminished,  not  in- 
creased. And  one  of  the  most  modern  visitors  repeats  the 
"  very  narrow  ridge,"  with  the  classical  but  incorrect  ad- 
juncts of"Scylla  here,  Charybdis  there."  Scylla  (say  the 
crater  slope)  is  disposed  at  an  angle  of  30°,  and  Mr.  Chap- 
man coolly  walked  down  this  "vast"  little  hollow.  I 
descended  Charybdis  (the  outer  counterscarp)  far  enough  to 
make  sure  that  it  is  equally  easy. 

Passing  the  "  carriage  road  "  (our  own  name),  we  crossed 


MOUNT  HEKLA  167 

a  neve  without  any  necessity  for  digging  foot-holes.  It  lies 
where  sulphur  is  notably  absent.  The  hot  patches  which 
account  for  the  freedom  from  snow,  even  so  high  above  the 
congelation-line,  are  scattered  about  the  summit :  in  other 
parts  the  thermometer,  placed  in  an  eighteen-inch  hole,  made 
earth  colder  than  air.  After  a  short  climb  we  reached  the 
apex  ;  the  ruddy-walled  northeastern  lip  of  the  Red  Crater 
(No.  2) :  its  lower  or  western  rim  forms  two  of  the  five 
summits  seen  from  the  prairie,  and  hides  the  highest  point. 
We  thus  ascertained  that  Hekla  is  a  linear  volcano  of  two 
mouths,  or  three  including  that  of  '45,  and  that  it  wants  a 
true  apical  crater.  But  how  reconcile  the  accounts  of  trav- 
ellers ?  Pliny  Miles  found  one  cone  and  three  craters ; 
Madam  Ida  Pfeiffer,  like  Metcalfe,  three  cones  and  no 
crater. 

On  the  summit  the  guides  sang  a  song  of  triumph,  whilst 
we  drank  to  the  health  of  our  charming  companions  and, 
despite  the  cold  wind  which  eventually  drove  us  down,  care- 
fully studied  the  extensive  view.  The  glorious  day  was 
out  of  character  with  a  scene  niente  cbe  Montague,  as  the 
unhappy  Venetians  described  the  Morea ;  rain  and  sleet  and 
blinding  snow  would  better  have  suited  the  picture,  but 
happily  they  were  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  Inland, 
beyond  a  steep  snow-bed  unpleasantly  crevassed,  lay  a  grim 
photograph  all  black  and  white ;  Langjokull  looking  down 
upon  us  with  a  grand  and  freezing  stare ;  the  Hrafntinnu 
Valley  marked  by  a  dwarf  cone,  and  beyond  where  streams 
head,  the  gloomy  regions  stretching  to  the  Sprengisandur, 
dreary  wastes  of  utter  sterility,  howling  deserts  of  dark  ashes, 


l68  MOUNT  HEKLA 

wholly  lacking  water  and  vegetable  life,  and  wanting  the 
gleam  and  the  glow  which  light  up  the  Arabian  wild. 
Skaptar  and  Orsefa  were  hidden  from  sight.  Seawards,  rang- 
ing from  west  to  south,  the  view,  by  contrast,  was  a  picture 
of  amenity  and  civilization.  Beyond  castellated  Hljodfell 
and  conical  Skjaldbreid  appeared  the  familiar  forms  of  Esja, 
and  the  long  lava  projection  of  the  Gold  Breast  country,  melt- 
ing into  the  western  main.  Nearer  stretched  the  fair  low- 
lands, once  a  broad  deep  bay,  now  traversed  by  the  net- 
work of  Olfusa,  Thjorsa,  and  the  Markarfljot ;  while  the 
sixfold  bunch  of  the  Westman  Islands,  mere  stone  lumps 
upon  a  blue  ground,  seemingly  floating  far  below  the  raised 
horizon,  lay  crowned  by  summer  sea..  Eastward  we  dis- 
tinctly traced  the  Fiskivotn.  Run  the  eye  along  the  southern 
shore,  and  again  the  scene  shifts.  Below  the  red  hornitos  of 
the  slope  rises  the  classical  Three-horned,  not  lofty,  but  re- 
markable for  its  trident  top ;  Tindfjall  (tooth-fell)  with  its 
two  horns  or  pyramids  of  ice,  casting  blue  shadows  upon  the 
untrodden  snow  ;  and  the  whole  mighty  mass  known  as  the 
Eastern  Jokull  Eyjafjall  (island-fell),  so  called  from  the 
black  button  of  rock  which  crowns  the  long  white  dorsum ; 
Katla  (Koltu-gja),  Merkrjokull,  and  Godalands,  all  con- 
nected by  ridges,  and  apparently  neither  lofty  nor  imprac- 
ticable. 

Ultima  Thule ;  or  a  Summer  in  Iceland  (London  and  Edin- 
burgh, 1875). 


VICTORIA  FALLS 

DAVID  LIVINGSTONE 

WE  proceeded  next  morning,  gth  August,  1860,  to 
see  the  Victoria  Falls.  Mosi-oa-tunya  is  the 
Makololo  name,  and  means  smoke  sounding ;  Seongo  or 
Chongwe,  meaning  the  Rainbow,  or  the  place  of  the  Rain- 
bow, was  the  more  ancient  term  they  bore.  We  embarked 
in  canoes,  belonging  to  Tuba  Mokoro,  "  smasher  of  ca- 
noes," an  ominous  name ;  but  he  alone,  it  seems,  knew  the 
medicine  which  insures  one  against  shipwreck  in  the  rapids 
above  the  Falls.  For  some  miles  the  river  was  smooth  and 
tranquil,  and  we  glided  pleasantly  over  water  clear  as 
crystal,  and  past  lovely  islands  densely  covered  with  a 
tropical  vegetation.  Noticeable  among  the  many  trees 
were  the  lofty  Hyphasne  and  Borassus  palms  ;  the  graceful 
wild  date-palm,  with  its  fruit  in  golden  clusters,  and  the 
umbrageous  mokononga,  of  cypress  form,  with  its  dark- 
green  leaves  and  scarlet  fruit.  Many  flowers  peeped  out 
near  the  water's  edge,  some  entirely  new  to  us,  and  others, 
as  the  convolvulus,  old  acquaintances. 

But  our  attention  was  quickly  called  from  the  charming 
islands  to  the  dangerous  rapids,  down  which  Tuba  might 
unintentionally  shoot  us.  To  confess  the  truth,  the  very 
ugly  aspect  of  these  roaring  rapids  could  scarcely  fail  to 


iyO  VICTORIA  FALLS 

cause  some  uneasiness  in  the  minds  of  new-comers.  It  is 
only  when  the  river  is  very  low,  as  it  was  now,  that  any 
one  durst  venture  to  the  island  to  which  we  were  bound. 
If  one  went  during  the  period  of  flood,  and  fortunately  hit 
the  island,  he  would  be  obliged  to  remain  there  till  the 
water  subsided  again,  if  he  lived  so  long.  Both  hippo- 
potamus and  elephants  have  been  known  to  be  swept  over 
the  Falls,  and  of  course  smashed  to  pulp. 

Before  entering  the  race  of  waters,  we  were  requested 
not  to  speak,  as  our  talking  might  diminish  the  virtue  of 
the  medicine ;  and  no  one  with  such  boiling,  eddying  rapids 
before  his  eyes,  would  think  of  disobeying  the  orders  of  a 
"  canoe-smasher."  It  soon  became  evident  that  there  was 
sound  sense  in  this  request  of  Tuba's,  although  the  reason 
assigned  was  not  unlike  that  of  the  canoe-man  from  Sesheke, 
who  begged  one  of  our  party  not  to  whistle  because  whistling 
made  the  wind  come.  It  was  the  duty  of  the  man  at  the 
bow  to  look  out  ahead  for  the  proper  course,  and  when  he 
saw  a  rock  or  snag  to  call  out  to  the  steersman.  Tuba 
doubtless  thought  that  talking  on  board  might  divert  the  at- 
tention of  his  steersman,  at  a  time  when  the  neglect  of  an 
order,  or  a  slight  mistake,  would  be  sure  to  spill  us  all  into 
the  chafing  river.  There  were  places  where  the  utmost 
exertions  of  both  men  had  to  be  put  forth  in  order  to  force 
the  canoe  to  the  only  safe  part  of  the  rapid,  and  to  prevent 
it  from  sweeping  down  broadside  on,  where  in  a  twinkling 
we  should  have  found  ourselves  floundering  among  the 
plotuses  and  cormorants,  which  were  engaged  in  diving 
for  their  breakfast  of  small  fish.  At  times  it  seemed  as  if 


VICTORIA  FALLS  171 

nothing  could  save  us  from  dashing  in  our  headlong  race 
against  the  rocks  which,  now  that  the  river  was  low,  jutted 
out  of  the  water;  but  just  at  the  very  nick  of  time,  Tuba 
passed  the  word  to  the  steersman,  and  then  with  ready  pole 
turned  the  canoe  a  little  aside  and  we  glided  swiftly  past  the 
threatened  danger.  Never  was  canoe  more  admirably 
managed :  once  only  did  the  medicine  seem  to  have  lost 
something  of  its  efficacy.  We  were  driving  swiftly  down, 
a  black  rock,  over  which  the  white  foam  flew,  lay  directly 
in  our  path,  the  pole  was  planted  against  it  as  readily  as 
ever,  but  it  slipped  just  as  Tuba  put  forth  his  strength  to 
turn  the  bow  off.  We  struck  hard,  and  were  half-full  of 
water  in  a  moment ;  Tuba  recovered  himself  as  speedily, 
shoved  off  the  bow,  and  shot  the  canoe  into  a  still  shallow 
place,  to  bale  out  the  water.  Here  we  were  given  to  under- 
stand that  it  was  not  the  medicine  which  was  at  fault ;  that 
had  lost  none  of  its  virtue ;  the  accident  was  owing  en- 
tirely to  Tuba  having  started  without  his  breakfast.  Need 
it  be  said  we  never  left  Tuba  go  without  that  meal  again  ? 

We  landed  at  the  head  of  Garden  Island,  which  is 
situated  near  the  middle  of  the  river  and  on  the  lip  of  the 
Falls.  On  reaching  that  lip,  and  peering  over  the  giddy 
height,  the  wondrous  and  unique  character  of  the  mag- 
nificent cascade  at  once  burst  upon  us. 

It  is  a  rather  hopeless  task  to  endeavour  to  convey  an 
idea  of  it  in  words,  since,  as  was  remarked  on  the  spot,  an 
accomplished  painter,  even  by  a  number  of  views,  could 
but  impart  a  faint  impression  of  the  glorious  scene.  The 
probable  mode  of  its  formation  may  perhaps  help  to  the 


172  VICTORIA  FALLS 

conception  of  its  peculiar  shape.  Niagara  has  been  formed 
by  a  wearing  back  of  the  rock  over  which  the  river  falls ; 
but  during  the  long  course  of  ages,  it  has  gradually  receded, 
and  left  a  broad,  deep,  and  pretty  straight  trough  in  front. 
It  goes  on  wearing  back  daily,  and  may  yet  discharge  the 
lakes  from  which  its  river — the  St.  Lawrence — flows.  But 
the  Victoria  Falls  have  been  formed  by  a  crack  right  across  the 
river,  in  the  hard,  black,  basaltic  rock  which  there  formed 
the  bed  of  the  Zambesi.  The  lips  of  the  crack  are  still 
quite  sharp,  save  about  three  feet  of  the  edge  over  which 
the  river  rolls.  The  walls  go  sheer  down  from  the  lips 
without  any  projecting  crag,  or  symptoms  of  stratification 
or  dislocation.  When  the  mighty  rift  occurred,  no  change 
of  level  took  place  in  the  two  parts  of  the  bed  of  the  river 
thus  rent  asunder,  consequently,  in  coming  down  the  river 
to  Garden  Island,  the  water  suddenly  disappears,  and  we 
see  the  opposite  side  of  the  cleft,  with  grass  and  trees  grow- 
ing where  once  the  river  ran,  on  the  same  level  as  that  part 
of  its  bed  on  which  we  sail.  The  first  crack,  is,  in  length, 
a  few  yards  more  than  the  breadth  of  the  Zambesi,  which 
by  measurement  we  found  to  be  a  little  over  1,860  yards, 
but  this  number  we  resolved  to  retain  as  indicating  the  year 
in  which  the  Fall  was  for  the  first  time  carefully  examined. 
The  main  stream  here  runs  nearly  north  and  south,  and  the 
cleft  across  it  is  nearly  east  and  west.  The  depth  of  the 
rift  was  measured  by  lowering  a  line,  to  the  end  of  which 
a  few  bullets  and  a  foot  of  white  cotton  cloth  were  tied. 
One  of  us  lay  with  his  head  over  a  projecting  crag,  and 
watched  the  descending  calico,  till,  after  his  companions 


VICTORIA  FALLS  173 

had  paid  out  310  feet,  the  weight  rested  on  a  sloping  pro- 
jection, probably  fifty  feet  from  the  water  below,  the  actual 
bottom  being  still  further  down.  The  white  cloth  now 
appeared  the  size  of  a  crown-piece.  On  measuring  the 
width  of  this  deep  cleft  by  sextant,  it  was  found  at  Garden 
Island,  its  narrowest  part,  to  be  eighty  yards,  and  at  its 
broadest  somewhat  more.  Into  this  chasm,  of  twice  the 
depth  of  Niagara-fall,  the  river,  a  full  mile  wide,  rolls  with 
a  deafening  roar ;  and  this  is  Mosi-oa-tunya,  or  the  Victoria 
Falls. 

Looking  from  Garden  Island,  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
abyss,  nearly  half  a  mile  of  water,  which  has  fallen  over 
that  portion  of  the  Falls  to  our  right,  or  west  of  our  point 
of  view,  is  seen  collected  in  a  narrow  channel  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  wide,  and  flowing  at  exactly  right  angles  to  its 
previous  course,  to  our  left ;  while  the  other  half,  or  that 
which  fell  over  the  eastern  portion  of  the  Falls,  is  seen  in 
the  left  of  the  narrow  channel  below,  coming  towards  our 
right.  Both  waters  unite  midway,  in  a  fearful  boiling 
waterfall,  and  find  an  outlet  by  a  crack  situated  at  right 
angles  to  the  fissure  of  the  Falls.  This  outlet  is  about 
1,170  yards  from  the  western  end  of  the  chasm,  and  some 
600  from  its  eastern  end ;  the  whirlpool  is  at  its  com- 
mencement. The  Zambesi,  now  apparently  not  more  than 
twenty  or  thirty  yards  wide,  rushes  and  surges  south, 
through  the  narrow  escape-channel  for  130  yards;  then 
enters  a  second  chasm  somewhat  deeper,  and  nearly  parallel 
with  the  first.  Abandoning  the  bottom  of  the  eastern 
half  of  this  second  chasm  to  the  growth  of  large  trees,  it 


174  VICTORIA  FALLS 

turns  sharply  off  to  the  west,  and  forms  a  promontory, 
with  the  escape-channel  at  its  point,  of  1,170  yards  long, 
and  416  yards  broad  at  the  base.  After  reaching  this  base, 
the  river  runs  abruptly  round  the  head  of  another  promontory, 
and  flows  away  to  the  east,  in  a  third  chasm ;  then  glides 
round  a  third  promontory,  much  narrower  than  the  rest, 
and  away  back  to  the  west,  in  a  fourth  chasm  ;  and  we 
could  see  in  the  distance  that  it  appeared  to  round  still 
another  promontory,  and  bend  once  more  in  another  chasm 
toward  the  east.  In  this  gigantic,  zigzag,  yet  narrow 
trough,  the  rocks  are  all  so  sharply  cut  and  angular,  that 
the  idea  at  once  arises  that  the  hard  basaltic  trap  must  have 
been  riven  into  its  present  shape  by  a  force  acting  from 
beneath,  and  that  this  probably  took  place  when  the  ancient 
inland  seas  were  cut  off  by  similar  fissures  nearer  the 
ocean. 

The  land  beyond,  or  on  the  south  of  the  Falls,  retains, 
as  already  remarked,  the  same  level  as  before  the  rent  was 
made.  It  is  as  if  the  trough  below  Niagara  were  bent  right 
and  left,  several  times  before  it  reached  the  railway  bridge. 
The  land  in  the  supposed  bends  being  of  the  same  height  as 
that  above  the  Fall,  would  give  standing-places,  or  points 
of  view,  of  the  same  nature  as  that  from  the  railway  bridge, 
but  the  nearest  would  be  only  eighty  yards,  instead  of  two 
miles  (the  distance  to  the  bridge)  from  the  face  of  the 
cascade.  The  tops  of  the  promontories  are  in  general  flat, 
smooth,  and  studded  with  trees.  The  first,  with  its  base  on 
the  east,  is  at  one  place  so  narrow,  that  it  would  be  danger- 
ous to  walk  to  its  extremity.  On  the  second,  however,  we 


VICTORIA  FALLS  175 

found  a  broad  rhinoceros  path  and  a  hut ;  but,  unless  the 
builder  were  a  hermit,  with  a  pet  rhinoceros,  we  cannot 
conceive  what  beast  or  man  ever  went  there  for.  On 
reaching  the  apex  of  this  second  eastern  promontory  we 
saw  the  great  river,  of  a  deep  sea-green  colour,  now  sorely 
compressed,  gliding  away,  at  least  400  feet  below  us. 

Garden  Island,  when  the  river  is  low,  commands  the 
best  view  of  the  Great  Fall  chasm,  as  also  of  the  promon- 
tory opposite,  with  its  grove  of  large  evergreen  trees,  and 
brilliant  rainbows  of  three-quarters  of  a  circle,  two,  three, 
and  sometimes  even  four  in  number,  resting  on  the  face  of 
the  vast  perpendicular  rock,  down  which  tiny  streams  are 
always  running  to  be  swept  again  back  by  the  upward  rush- 
ing vapour.  But  as,  at  Niagara,  one  has  to  go  over  to  the 
Canadian  shore  to  see  the  chief  wonder — the  Great  Horse- 
shoe Fall — so  here  we  have  to  cross  over  to  Moselekatse's 
side  to  the  promontory  of  evergreens,  for  the  best  view  of 
the  principal  Falls  of  Mosi-oa-tunya.  Beginning,  there- 
fore, at  the  base  of  this  promontory,  and  facing  the  Cata- 
ract, at  the  west  end  of  the  chasm,  there  is,  first,  a  fall  of 
thirty-six  yards  in  breadth,  and  of  course,  as  they  all  are, 
upwards  of  310  feet  in  depth.  Then  Boaruka,  a  small 
island,  intervenes,  and  next  comes  a  great  fall,  with  a 
breadth  of  573  yards;  a  projecting  rock  separates  this  from 
a  second  grand  fall  of  325  yards  broad;  in  all,  upwards  of 
900  yards  of  perennial  Falls.  Further  east  stands  Garden 
Island ;  then,  as  the  river  was  at  its  lowest,  came  a  good 
deal  of  the  bare  rock  of  its  bed,  with  a  score  of  narrow 
falls,  which,  at  the  time  of  flood,  constitute  one  enormous 


176  VICTORIA  FALLS 

cascade  of  nearly  another  half-mile.  Near  the  east  end  of 
the  chasm  are  two  larger  falls,  but  they  are  nothing  at  low 
water  compared  to  those  between  the  islands. 

The  whole  body  of  water  rolls  clear  over,  quite  un- 
broken ;  but,  after  a  descent  of  ten  or  more  feet,  the  entire 
mass  suddenly  becomes  a  huge  sheet  of  driven  snow. 
Pieces  of  water  leap  off  it  in  the  form  of  comets  with  tails 
streaming  behind,  till  the  whole  snowy  sheet  becomes 
myriads  of  rushing,  leaping,  aqueous  comets.  This  pecul- 
iarity was  not  observed  by  Charles  Livingstone  at  Niagara, 
and  here  it  happens,  possibly  from  the  dryness  of  the  at- 
mosphere, or  whatever  the  cause  may  be  which  makes 
every  drop  of  Zambesi  water  appear  to  possess  a  sort  of  in- 
dividuality. It  runs  off  the  ends  of  the  paddles,  and  glides 
in  beads  along  the  smooth  surface,  like  drops  of  quicksilver 
on  a  table.  Here  we  see  them  in  a  conglomeration,  each 
with  a  train  of  pure  white  vapour,  racing  down  till  lost  in 
clouds  of  spray.  A  stone  dropped  in  became  less  and  less 
to  the  eye,  and  at  last  disappeared  in  the  dense  mist  below. 

Charles  Livingstone  had  seen  Niagara,  and  gave  Mosi- 
oa-tunya  the  palm,  though  now  at  the  end  of  a  drought, 
and  the  river  at  its  very  lowest.  Many  feel  a  disappoint- 
ment on  first  seeing  the  great  American  Falls,  but  Mosi-oa- 
tunya  is  so  strange,  it  must  ever  cause  wonder.  In  the 
amount  of  water,  Niagara  probably  excels,  though  not 
during  the  months  when  the  Zambesi  is  in  flood.  The 
vast  body  of  water,  separating  in  the  comet-like  forms  de- 
scribed, necessarily  encloses  in  its  descent  a  large  volume 
of  air,  which,  forced  into  the  cleft,  to  an  unknown  depth, 


VICTORIA  FALLS  177 

rebounds,  and  rushes  up  loaded  with  vapour  to  form  the 
three  or  even  six  columns,  as  if  of  steam,  visible  at  the 
Batoka  village  Moachemba,  twenty-one  miles  distant.  On 
attaining  a  height  of  200,  or  at  most  300  feet  from  the 
level  of  the  river  above  the  cascade,  this  vapour  becomes 
condensed  into  a  perpetual  shower  of  fine  rain.  Much  of 
the  spray,  rising  to  the  west  of  Garden  Island,  falls  on  the 
grove  of  evergreen  trees  opposite;  and  from  their  leaves, 
heavy  drops  are  for  ever  falling,  to  form  sundry  little  rills, 
which,  in  running  down  the  steep  face  of  rock,  are  blown 
off  and  turned  back,  or  licked  off  their  perpendicular  bed, 
up  into  the  column  from  which  they  have  just  descended. 

The  morning  sun  gilds  these  columns  of  watery  smoke 
with  all  the  glowing  colours  of  double  or  treble  rainbows. 
The  evening  sun,  from  a  hot  yellow  sky  imparts  a  sul- 
phureous hue,  and  gives  one  the  impression  that  the  yawn- 
ing gulf  might  resemble  the  mouth  of  the  bottomless  pit. 
No  bird  sings  and  sings  on  the  branches  of  the  grove  of 
perpetual  showers,  or  ever  builds  his  nest  there.  We  saw 
hornbills  and  flocks  of  little  black  weavers  flying  across 
from  the  mainland  to  the  islands,  and  from  the  islands  to 
the  points  of  the  promontories  and  back  again,  but  they 
uniformly  shunned  the  region  of  perpetual  rain,  occupied 
by  the  evergreen  grove.  The  sunshine,  elsewhere  in  this 
land  so  overpowering,  never  penetrates  the  deep  gloom  of 
that  shade.  In  the  presence  of  the  strange  Mosi-oa-tunya, 
we  can  sympathize  with  those  who,  when  the  world  was 
young,  peopled  earth,  air,  and  river,  with  beings  not  of 
mortal  form.  Sacred  to  what  deity  would  be  this  awful 


IjS  VICTORIA  FALLS 

chasm   and   that   dark  grove,  over  which  hovers  an  ever- 
abiding  "  pillar  of  cloud  "  ? 

The  ancient  Batoka  chieftains  used  Kazeruka,  now 
Garden  Island,  and  Boaruka,  the  island  further  west,  also 
on  the  lip  of  the  Falls,  as  sacred  spots  for  worshipping  the 
Deity.  It  is  no  wonder  that  under  the  cloudy  columns, 
and  near  the  brilliant  rainbows,  with  the  ceaseless  roar  of 
the  cataract,  with  the  perpetual  flow,  as  if  pouring  forth 
from  the  hand  of  the  Almighty,  their  souls  should  be  filled 
with  reverential  awe. 

The  Zambesi  and  its  Tributaries  1858—1864.  (London, 
1865). 


THE  DRAGON-TREE  OF  OROTAVA1 
ALEXANDER  VON  HUMBOLDT 

OROTAVA,  the  ancient  Taoro  of  the  Guanches,  is 
situated  on  a  very  steep  declivity.  The  streets 
seem  deserted ;  the  houses  are  solidly  built,  and  of  gloomy 
appearance.  We  passed  along  a  lofty  aqueduct,  lined  with 
a  great  number  of  fine  ferns ;  and  visited  several  gardens, 
in  which  the  fruit  trees  of  the  north  of  Europe  are  mingled 
with  orange  trees,  pomegranates,  and  date  trees.  We  were 
assured,  that  these  last  were  as  little  productive  here  as  on 
the  coast  of  Cumana.  Although  we  had  been  made  ac- 
quainted, from  the  narratives  of  many  travellers,  with  the 
dragon-tree  in  M.  Franqui's  garden,  we  were  not  the  less 
struck  with  its  enormous  size.  We  were  told,  that  the  trunk 
of  this  tree,  which  is  mentioned  in  several  very  ancient  docu- 
ments as  marking  the  boundaries  of  a  field,  was  as  gigantic 
in  the  Fifteenth  Century  as  it  is  in  the  present  time.  Its 
height  appeared  to  us  to  be  about  fifty  or  sixty  feet ;  its 
circumference  near  the  roots  is  forty-five  feet.  We  could 
not  measure  higher,  but  Sir  George  Staunton  found  that, 
ten  feet  from  the  ground,  the  diameter  of  the  trunk  is  still 
twelve  English  feet ;  which  corresponds  perfectly  with  the 
statement  of  Borda,  who  found  its  mean  circumference 
thirty-three  feet,  eight  inches,  French  measure.  The  trunk 

1  This  famous   tree  was  blown  down  by  a  storm  in  1 868.     Its  age  was 
estimated  from  five  to  six  thousand  years. — E.  S. 


l8o  THE  DRAGON-TREE  OF  OROTAVA 

is  divided  into  a  great  number  of  branches,  which  rise  in 
the  form  of  a  candelabrum,  and  are  terminated  by  tufts  of 
leaves,  like  the  yucca  which  adorns  the  valley  of  Mexico. 
This  division  gives  it  a  very  different  appearance  from  that 
of  the  palm-tree. 

Among  organic  creations,  this  tree  is  undoubtedly,  to- 
gether with  the  Adansonia  or  baobab  of  Senegal,  one  of 
the  oldest  inhabitants  of  our  globe.  The  baobabs  are  of 
still  greater  dimensions  than  the  dragon-tree  of  Orotava. 
There  are  some  which  near  the  root  measure  thirty-four 
feet  in  diameter,  though  their  total  height  is  only  from  fifty 
to  sixty  feet.  But  we  should  observe,  that  the  Adansonia, 
like  the  ochroma,  and  all  the  plants  of  the  family  of  bom- 
bax,  grow  much  more  rapidly  than  the  dracaena,  the  vegeta- 
tion of  which  is  very  slow.  That  in  M.  Franqui's  garden 
still  bears  every  year  both  flowers  and  fruit.  Its  aspect 
forcibly  exemplifies  "  that  eternal  youth  of  nature,"  which 
is  an  inexhaustible  source  of  motion  and  of  life. 

The  drac<ena,  which  is  seen  only  in  cultivated  spots  in 
the  Canary  Islands,  at  Madeira,  and  Porto  Santo,  presents 
a  curious  phenomenon  with  respect  to  the  emigration  of 
plants.  It  has  never  been  found  in  a  wild  state  on  the 
continent  of  Africa.  The  East  Indies  is  its  real  country. 
How  has  this  tree  been  transplanted  to  Teneriffe,  where  it 
is  by  no  means  common  ?  Does  its  existence  prove,  that, 
at  some  very  distant  period,  the  Guanches  had  connexions 
with  other  nations  originally  from  Asia  ? J 

1  The  form  of  the  dragon-tree  is  exhibited  in  several  species  of  the 
genus  Dracaena,  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  in  China,  and  in  New  Zea- 


THK  DRAGON  TREE. 


THE  DRAGON-TREE  OF  OROTAVA       l8l 

The  age  of  trees  is  marked  by  their  size,  and  the  union 
of  age  with  the  manifestation  of  constantly  renewed  vigour 
is  a  charm  peculiar  to  the  vegetable  kingdom.  The  gigan- 
tic Dragon-tree  of  Orotava  (as  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Canaries  as  the  olive-tree  in  the  Citadel 
of  Athens,  or  the  Elm  of  Ephesus),  the  diameter  of  which 
I  found,  when  I  visited  those  islands,  to  be  more  than  six- 
teen feet,  had  the  same  colossal  size  when  the  French  ad- 
venturers, the  Bethencourts,  conquered  these  gardens  of  the 
Hesperides  in  the  beginning  of  the  Fifteenth  Century ;  yet 
it  still  flourishes,  as  if  in  perpetual  youth,  bearing  flowers  and 
fruit.  A  tropical  forest  of  Hymenaeas  and  Caesalpinieae 
may  perhaps  present  to  us  a  monument  of  more  than  a 
thousand  years'  standing. 

This  colossal  dragon-tree,  Dracaena  draco,  stands  in  one 
of  the  most  delightful  spots  in  the  world.  In  June,  1799, 
when  we  ascended  the  Peak  of  TenerifFe,  we  measured  the 
circumference  of  the  tree  and  found  it  nearly  forty-eight 
English  feet.  Our  measurement  was  taken  several  feet 
above  the  root.  Lower  down,  and  nearer  to  the  ground, 
Le  Dru  made  it  nearly  seventy-nine  English  feet.  The 
height  of  the  tree  is  not  much  above  sixty-nine  English 
feet.  According  to  tradition,  this  tree  was  venerated  by 

land.  But  in  New  Zealand  it  is  superseded  by  the  form  of  the  yucca ; 
for  the  Dracana  borealis  of  Aiton  is  a  Convallaria,  of  which  it  has  all  the 
appearance.  The  astringent  juice,  known  in  commerce  by  the  name  of 
dragon's  blood,  is,  according  to  the  inquiries  we  made  on  the  spot,  the 
produce  of  several  American  plants.  At  Laguna,  toothpicks  steeped  in 
the  juice  of  the  dragon-tree  are  made  in  the  nunneries,  and  are  much  ex- 
tolled as  highly  useful  for  keeping  the  gums  in  a  healthy  state. 


1 82       THE  DRAGON-TREE  OF  OROTAVA 

the  Guanches  (as  was  the  ash-tree  of  Ephesus  by  the 
Greeks,  or  as  the  Lydian  plane-tree  which  Xerxes  decked 
with  ornaments,  and  the  sacred  Banyan-tree  of  Ceylon), 
and  at  the  time  of  the  first  expedition  of  the  Bethencourts 
in  1402,  it  was  already  as  thick  and  as  hollow  as  it  now  is. 
Remembering  that  the  Dracaena  grows  extremely  slowly, 
we  are  led  to  infer  the  high  antiquity  of  the  tree  of  Orotava. 
Bertholet  in  his  description  of  Teneriffe,  says  :  "  En  com- 
parant  les  jeunes  Dragonniers,  voisins  de  Farbre  gigantesque, 
les  calcus  qu 'on  fait  sur  f  age  de  ce  dernier  effraient  F  imagina- 
tion" (Nova  Acta  Acad.  Leop.  Carol.  Naturae  Curi- 
osorum  1827,  vol.  xiii.,  p.  781.)  The  dragon-tree  has 
been  cultivated  in  the  Canaries,  and  in  Madeira  and  Porto 
Santo,  from  the  earliest  times  ;  and  an  accurate  observer, 
Leopold  von  Buch,  has  even  found  it  wild  in  Teneriffe, 
near  Igueste.  .  .  . 

The  measurement  of  the  dragon-tree  of  the  Villa  Fran- 
qui  was  made  on  Borda's  first  voyage  with  Pingre,  in 
1771  ;  not  in  his  second  voyage,  in  1776,  with  Varela.  It 
is  affirmed  that  in  the  earlier  times  of  the  Norman  and 
Spanish  conquests,  in  the  Fifteenth  Century,  Mass  was 
said  at  a  small  altar  erected  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  the  tree. 
Unfortunately,  the  dragon-tree  of  Orotava  lost  one  side  of 
its  top  in  the  storm  of  the  2ist  of  July,  1819. 

Personal  Narrative  of  Travels  to  the  Equinoctial  Regions 
of  America  during  the  years  1799-1804.  (London,  1825);  and 
Aspects  of  Nature  (Philadelphia,  1849). 


MOUNT  SHASTA 

J.  W.  BODDAM-WHETHAM 

MOUNT  SHASTA  is  the  most  striking  feature  of 
Northern  California.  Its  height  is  about  14,500 
feet  above  the  sea — very  nearly  the  height  of  Mount  Blanc. 
Mount  Blanc  is  broken  into  a  succession  of  peaks,  but 
Shasta  is  one  stupendous  peak,  set  upon  a  broad  base  that 
sweeps  out  far  and  wide.  From  the  base  the  volcanic  cone 
rises  up  in  one  vast  stretch  of  snow  and  lava.  It  is  very 
precipitous  to  the  north  and  south,  but  east  and  west  there 
are  two  slopes  right  up  to  the  crater.  It  is  a  matter  of 
doubt  whether  Shasta  is  dead  or  only  sleeping.  Vesuvius 
slept  calmly  for  centuries,  and  then  spread  death  and  deso- 
lation for  miles  around.  The  base  of  the  mountain  is 
magnificently  watered  and  wooded,  and  forms  a  splendid 
hunting-ground.  The  woods  are  full  of  deer  and  bears  ; 
and  now  and  then  a  mountain-goat,  an  animal  very  like  the 
chamois  of  the  Alps,  is  seen  in  the  higher  part  of  the 
mountains. 

Well-provided  with  blankets  and  provisions,  we  started 
with  a  guide,  and  a  man  to  look  after  the  horses,  at  a  very 
early  hour,  and  rode  through  a  beautiful  forest  of  pines, 
silver  firs,  and  cedars.  Along  the  banks  of  the  streams 
were  aspens,  willows,  and  the  trees  known  by  the  name  of 


184  MOUNT  SHASTA 

the  "  Balm  of  Gilead,"  whose  vivid  green  leaves  were 
already  changing  to  a  rich  orange  or  an  apple-red — forming 
a  beautiful  contrast  of  colours  with  the  glazed  green  of 
the  cedars  and  the  green-tinted  white  of  the  silver  firs. 

After  an  easy  ascent  to  a  height  of  about  8,000  feet,  we 
reached  the  limits  of  vegetation.  Thence  our  upward  path 
lay  over  snow,  ice,  and  lava — lonely,  isolated  barrenness  on 
every  side,  relieved  only  by  an  occasional  solitary  dwarf- 
pine,  struggling  to  retain  life  amidst  fierce  storms  and 
heavy-weighing  snow.  Many  of  them  were  quite  dead, 
but  embalmed  by  frost  and  snow  in  a  never-decaying  death. 

With  a  few  loads  of  this  fuel  we  soon  made  a  splendid 
fire,  the  warmth  of  which  was  most  welcome  in  the  cold 
rarefied  atmosphere.  Scarcely  had  we  finished  a  capital 
supper  ere  night  descended,  and  great  clouds  and  fitful  fogs 
began  to  drift  past.  These  in  their  turn  broke,  and  the 
moon  threw  a  weird  light  over  the  forest  below ;  whilst 
above  rose  piles  upon  piles  of  pinkish  lava  and  snow-fields, 
reaching  far  up  into  the  sky,  whose  magnificent  blue  grew 
more  sparkling  and  clear  every  moment. 

Wrapping  ourselves  in  our  bundles  of  blankets,  we  crept 
as  close  as  possible  to  the  huge  fire,  and  before  long  my 
companions  were  fast  asleep  and  snoring.  I  could  not 
sleep  a  wink,  and  mentally  registered  a  vow  never  again  to 
camp  out  without  a  pillow.  No  one  can  tell  till  he  has 
tried  it,  the  difference  there  is  between  going  to  sleep  with 
a  pillow  under  the  head  and  a  stone  or  a  pair  of  boots  or 
saddle  as  its  resting-place. 

The  deep  silence,  unbroken  save  by  a  most  unromantic 


MOUNT   SHASTA  185 

snore,  was  painfully  oppressive,  and  I  longed  to  hear  even 
a  growl  from  a  bear  or  a  deep  whine  from  a  California  lion.1 
I  listened  intently,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  slightest  sound, 
even  a  hundred  miles  away,  ought  to  be  heard,  so  still  and 
frosty  was  the  air. 

But  none  fell  on  my  ear,  not  even  a  murmur  to  soothe 
one  to  sleep,  and  I  began  to  think  bears  and  lions  were 
snores  and  delusions,  when,  just  as  I  was  dozing  off,  I  felt 
my  arm  violently  pulled,  and  a  voice  called  out  that  it  was 
time  for  us  to  make  a  start.  Hot  coffee  soon  had  a  cheer- 
ing effect,  and  long  before  daylight  we  left  our  warm  camp- 
ing-ground, and  began  the  higher  ascent  on  foot.  Broken 
stone  and  slabs  of  lava  afforded  pretty  good  foothold,  far 
preferable  to  the  fields  of  frozen  snow,  which  we  carefully 
avoided.  After  a  couple  of  hours'  hard  walking  we  seemed 
io  be  just  as  far  from  the  summit  as  when  we  started ;  but 
the  views  gradually  became  grander.  From  a  rocky  promon- 
tory we  looked  back  over  a  sea  of  glittering  clouds,  the  only 
land  visible  being  the  peaks  of  the  Coast  range,  near  the 
Pacific ;  all  else  was  cloud,  to  which  the  moonlight  lent  an 
almost  dazzling  whiteness : 

"  Far  clouds  of  feathery  gold, 
Shaded  with  deepest  purple,  gleam 
Like  islands  on  a  dark  blue  sea." 

When  the  sun  rose  and  the  mists  cleared  off,  the  scene 
was  indescribably  grand,  and  the  gradual  unfolding  of  the 
vast  panorama  unapproachable  in  its  splendour. 

1  These  so-called  lions  are  a  sort  of  panther,  and  abound  in  most  parts 
of  California  and  Oregon.  They  are  very  cowardly,  and  seldom  attack  a 
man,  unless  they  can  spring  on  him  from  a  tree,  and  not  often  then. 


1 86  MOUNT  SHASTA 

After  some  hours  of  weary  climbing  over  crumbling 
scoria  and  splintered  rock,  we  reached  the  crater.  In  the 
ascent  to  the  summit  overlooking  the  crater,  we  had  to 
cross  an  ice-field.  It  had  that  blue  tinge  found  in  the  ice 
of  which  glaciers  are  composed,  and  its  slipperiness  made 
it  almost  impossible  to  walk  over  it,  the  ice  lying  often  in 
ridges  resembling  the  waves  of  the  sea. 

The  main  crater  covers  several  acres.  It  is  hemmed  in 
by  rims  of  rock,  and  is  filled  with  volcanic  debris^  covered 
with  snow  and  ice.  Numbers  of  little  boiling  springs  were 
bubbling  up  through  the  bed  of  sulphur,  and  were  sugges- 
tive of  the  subterranean  fires  which  once  threw  their  molten 
lava  over  the  surrounding  country.  The  view  from  the 
summit  was  most  extensive,  and  fortunately  there  was  none 
of  the  usual  smoke  from  the  forest-fires,  so  prevalent  in 
autumn  in  Northern  California  and  Oregon,  to  impede  the 
range  of  vision. 

Looking  northward,  far  over  into  Oregon,  we  could  see 
her  lakes,  valleys,  and  mountains.  Southward,  we  could 
trace  the  Sacramento  and  Pitt  rivers.  The  great  boundary- 
wall  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  lay  to  the  east,  and  farther  on- 
ward, the  deserts  and  sparkling  lakes  of  Utah  could  be 
distinguished.  To  the  west  the  sinuous  outline  of  the 
Coast  range  was  visible,  and  beyond,  the  broad  Pacific 
shelved  away  to  the  horizon.  Fertile  valleys,  rugged 
mountains,  wood  and  water,  all  lent  their  aid  to  enhance 
the  beauty  of  this  unsurpassable  scene. 

The  descent  to  our  camping-ground  was  accomplished 
in  a  comparatively  short  time.  On  the  way,  we  stopped 


MOUNT  SHASTA  187 

to  witness  a  most  glorious  sunset.  Round  the  horizon  ran 
a  thin  mist  with  a  brilliant  depth  of  colouring.  To  the 
east  a  blue  gauze  seemed  to  cover  each  valley  as  it  sank 
into  night,  and  the  intervening  ridges  rose  with  increasing 
distinctness.  The  lower  country  was  flooded  with  an  ex- 
quisitely delicate  light,  and  a  few  fleecy  clouds  tinted  with 
gold,  pale  salmon,  and  sapphire,  passed  over  the  empurpled 
hills  of  the  Coast  range.  The  great  shadow  of  Mount 
Shasta  spread  itself,  cone-like,  across  the  valley ;  the  blue 
mists  were  quenched ;  the  distant  mountains  glowed  like 
fairy  hills  for  a  few  moments ;  and  the  sun,  poising  itself 
like  a  great  globe  of  fire  in  the  darkening  heavens,  de- 
scended slowly  below  the  golden  ridge  to  illumine  another 
hemisphere. 

During  our  descent  we  passed  through  some  patches  of 
red  snow,  which  leaves  a  crimson  track  behind  those  who 
cross  over  it.  This  curious  phenomenon  is  always  avoided 
by  the  Shasta  Indians,  when  acting  as  guides  or  porters, 
as  they  say  it  brings  death  if  you  tread  on  it  willingly 
and  after  due  warning.  We  found  a  warm  fire  to 
welcome  us  on  our  arrival  at  the  camp,  and  the  ex- 
ertions of  the  day  made  us  very  willing  to  turn  in 
among  the  blankets  where  we  slept  soundly  till  long  after 
daybreak.  The  following  day,  when  we  arrived  at  our  origi- 
nal starting-point,  my  companions  resumed  their  journey  to 
San  Francisco,  and  I  went  on  to  Sissons,  a  station  on  the 
stage-road,  whence  I  was  to  start  on  a  shooting  expedition 
amongst  the  Castle  Rocks. 

Sissons,  so-called   after  the  name  of  the  proprietor,  is  a 


1 88  MOUNT  SHASTA 

very  delightful  place  to  spend  a  few  days  at.  The  view  of 
Mount  Shasta,  which  is  directly  opposite  the  house,  is  mag- 
nificent; and  Sisson  himself  is  a  capital  sportsman  guide, 
and  succeeds  in  making  his  guests  very  comfortable. 
Looking  at  Mount  Shasta  is  occupation  enough  for  some 
time.  The  play  of  colour  on  the  mountain  is  extraordi- 
nary. The  lava,  which  is  of  a  rosy  hue,  often  penetrates 
through  the  snow,  and  when  the  sun  shines  upon  it  the 
effect  is  most  beautiful.  The  pure  white  fields  of  snow 
are  diversified  by  great  blue  glaciers,  and  when  the  sun- 
beams fall  with  refracted  glory  on  the  veins  of  ice  they  ex- 
hibit wonderful  tints  of  opal,  green,  and  pink.  The  effects 
produced  by  the  mingling  colours  of  lava,  snow,  and  ice, 
and  the  contrasting  shadows  of  a  deep  violet  hue  are  so 
varied,  and  the  radiation  of  colour  at  sunrise  and  sunset  so 
vivid,  that  it  is  difficult  to  keep  the  eyes  turned  from  the 
mountain — for  nothing  seems  worthy  of  consideration  in 
comparison  with  Shasta. 

Western  Wanderings :  a  Record  of  Travel  in  the  Evening 
Land  (London,  1874). 


THE   LAGOONS  OF  VENICE 
JOHN    RUSKIN 

IN  the  olden  days  of  travelling,  now  to  return  no  more, 
in  which  distance  could  not  be  vanquished  without  toil, 
but  in  which  that  toil  was  rewarded,  partly  by  the  power 
of  deliberate  survey  of  the  countries  through  which  the 
journey  lay,  and  partly  by  the  happiness  of  the  evening 
hours,  when  from  the  top  of  the  last  hill  he  had  sur- 
mounted, the  traveller  beheld  the  quiet  village  where  he 
was  to  rest,  scattered  among  the  meadows  beside  its  valley 
stream ;  or,  from  the  long  hoped  for  turn  in  the  dusty 
perspective  of  the  causeway,  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the 
towers  of  some  famed  city,  faint  in  the  rays  of  sunset — 
hours  of  peaceful  and  thoughtful  pleasure,  for  which  the 
rush  of  the  arrival  in  the  railway  station  is  perhaps  not 
always,  or  to  all  men,  an  equivalent, — in  those  days,  I  say, 
when  there  was  something  more  to  be  anticipated  and  re- 
membered in  the  first  aspect  of  each  successive  halting- 
place,  than  a  new  arrangement  of  glass  roofing  and  iron 
girder,  there  were  few  moments  of  which  the  recollection 
was  more  fondly  cherished  by  the  travelled,  than  that 
which,  as  I  endeavoured  to  describe  in  the  close  of  the  last 
chapter,  brought  him  within  sight  of  Venice  as  his  gondola 
shot  into  the  open  lagoon  from  the  canal  of  Mestre.  Not 


1 90  THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE 

but  that  the  aspect  of  the  city  itself  was  generally  the 
source  of  some  slight  disappointment,  for  seen  in  this  direc- 
tion, its  buildings  are  far  less  characteristic  than  those  of 
other  great  towns  of  Italy  ;  but  this  inferiority  was  partly 
disguised  by  distance,  and  more  than  atoned  for  by  the 
strange  rising  of  its  walls  and  towers  out  of  the  midst,  as  it 
seemed,  of  the  deep  sea,  for  it  was  impossible  that  the  mind 
or  the  eye  could  at  once  comprehend  the  shallowness  of  the 
vast  sheet  of  water  which  stretched  away  in  leagues  of 
rippling  lustre  to  the  north  and  south,  or  trace  the  narrow 
line  of  islets  bounding  it  to  the  east.  The  salt  breeze,  the 
moaning  sea-birds,  the  masses  of  black  weed  separating  and 
disappearing  gradually,  in  knots  of  heaving  shoal,  under  the 
advance  of  the  steady  tide,  all  proclaimed  it  to  be  indeed 
the  ocean  on  whose  bosom  the  great  city  rested  so  calmly ; 
not  such  blue,  soft,  lake-like  ocean  as  bathes  the  Neapolitan 
promontories,  or  sleeps  beneath  the  marble  rocks  of  Genoa, 
but  a  sea  with  the  bleak  power  of  our  own  northern  waves, 
yet  subdued  into  a  strange  spacious  rest,  and  changed  from 
its  angry  pallor  into  a  field  of  burnished  gold,  as  the  sun 
declined  behind  the  belfry  tower  of  the  lonely  island 
church,  fitly  named  "  St.  George  of  the  Seaweed."  As  the 
boat  drew  nearer  to  the  city,  the  coast  which  the  traveller 
had  just  left  sank  behind  him  into  one  long,  low,  sad- 
coloured  line,  tufted  irregularly  with  brushwood  and  wil- 
lows ;  but,  at  what  seemed  its  northern  extremity,  the  hills 
of  Arqua  rose  in  a  dark  cluster  of  purple  pyramids,  bal- 
anced on  the  bright  mirage  of  the  lagoon  ;  two  or  three 
smooth  surges  of  inferior  hill  extended  themselves  about 


THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE  19 1 

their  roots,  and  beyond  these,  beginning  with  the  craggy 
peaks  above  Vicenza,  the  chain  of  the  Alps  girded  the 
whole  horizon  to  the  north — a  wall  of  jagged  blue,  here 
and  there  showing  through  its  clefts  a  wilderness  of  misty 
precipices,  fading  far  back  into  the  recesses  of  Cadore,  and 
itself  rising  and  breaking  away  eastward,  where  the  sun 
struck  opposite  upon  its  snow,  into  mighty  fragments  of 
peaked  light,  standing  up  behind  the  barred  clouds  of  even- 
ing, one  after  another,  countless,  the  crown  of  the  Adrian 
Sea,  until  the  eye  turned  back  from  pursuing  them,  to  rest 
upon  the  nearer  burning  of  the  campaniles  of  Murano,  and 
on  the  great  city,  where  it  magnified  itself  along  the  waves, 
as  the  quick,  silent  pacing  of  the  gondola  drew  nearer  and 
nearer.  And  at  last,  when  its  walls  were  reached,  and  the 
outmost  of  its  untrodden  streets  was  entered,  not  through 
towered  gate  or  guarded  rampart,  but  as  a  deep  inlet  be- 
tween two  rocks  of  coral  in  the  Indian  sea;  when  first 
upon  the  traveller's  sight  opened  the  long  ranges  of  col- 
umned palaces, — each  with  its  black  boat  moored  at  the 
portal, — each  with  its  image  cast  down,  beneath  its  feet, 
upon  that  green  pavement  which  every  breeze  broke  into 
new  fantasies  of  rich  tessellation ;  when  first,  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  bright  vista,  the  shadowy  Rialto  threw  its 
colossal  curve  slowly  forth  from  behind  the  palace  of  the 
Camerlenghi ;  that  strange  curve,  so  delicate,  so  adaman- 
tine, strong  as  a  mountain  cavern,  graceful  as  a  bow  just 
bent ;  when  first,  before  its  moonlike  circumference  was  all 
risen,  the  gondolier's  cry,  "  Ah  !  Stall,"  struck  sharp  upon 
the  ear,  and  the  prow  turned  aside  under  the  mighty  cor- 


I92  THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE 

nices  that  half  met  over  the  narrow  canal,  where  the  splash 
of  the  water  followed  close  and  loud,  ringing  along  the 
marble  by  the  boat's  side ;  and  when  at  last  that  boat 
darted  forth  upon  the  breadth  of  silver  sea,  across  which 
the  front  of  the  Ducal  palace,  flushed  with  its  sanguine 
veins,  looks  to  the  snowy  dome  of  Our  Lady  of  Salvation, 
it  was  no  marvel  that  the  mind  should  be  so  deeply  en- 
tranced by  the  visionary  charm  of  a  scene  so  beautiful  and 
so  strange,  as  to  forget  the  darker  truths  of  its  history  and 
its  being.  Well  might  it  seem  that  such  a  city  had  owed 
her  existence  rather  to  the  rod  of  the  enchanter,  than  the 
fear  of  the  fugitive  ;  that  the  waters  which  encircled  her 
had  been  chosen  for  the  mirror  of  her  state,  rather  than  the 
shelter  of  her  nakedness  ;  and  that  all  which  in  nature  was 
wild  or  merciless ; — Time  and  Decay,  as  well  as  the  waves 
and  tempests, — had  been  won  to  adorn  her  instead  of  to 
destroy,  and  might  still  spare,  for  ages  to  come,  that  beauty 
which  seemed  to  have  fixed  for  its  throne  the  sands  of  the 
hour-glass  as  well  as  of  the  sea. 

From  the  mouths  of  the  Adige  to  those  of  the  Piave  there 
stretches,  at  a  variable  distance  of  from  three  to  five  miles 
from  the  actual  shore,  a  bank  of  sand,  divided  into  long  is- 
lands by  narrow  channels  of  sea.  The  space  between  this 
bank  and  the  true  shore  consists  of  the  sedimentary  deposits 
from  these  and  other  rivers,  a  great  plain  of  calcareous  mud, 
covered,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Venice,  by  the  sea  at  high 
water,  to  the  depth  in  most  places  of  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a 
half,  and  nearly  everywhere  exposed  at  low  tide,  but  divided 
by  an  intricate  network  of  narrow  and  winding  channels, 


THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE  193 

from  which  the  sea  never  retires.  In  some  places,  accord- 
ing to  the  run  of  the  currents,  the  land  has  risen  into 
marshy  islets,  consolidated,  some  by  art,  and  some  by  time, 
into  ground  firm  enough  to  be  built  upon,  or  fruitful  enough 
to  be  cultivated ;  in  others,  on  the  contrary,  it  has  not 
reached  the  sea  level  j  so  that,  at  the  average  low  water, 
shallow  lakelets  glitter  among  its  irregularly  exposed  fields 
of  seaweed.  In  the  midst  of  the  largest  of  these,  increased 
in  importance  by  the  confluence  of  several  large  river  chan- 
nels towards  one  of  the  openings  in  the  sea  bank,  the  city 
of  Venice  itself  is  built,  on  a  crowded  cluster  of  islands  ; 
the  various  plots  of  higher  ground  which  appear  to  the  north 
and  south  of  this  central  cluster,  have  at  different  periods 
been  also  thickly  inhabited,  and  now  bear,  according  to  their 
size,  the  remains  of  cities,  villages,  or  isolated  convents  and 
churches,  scattered  among  spaces  of  open  ground,  partly 
waste  and  encumbered  by  ruins,  partly  under  cultivation  for 
the  supply  of  the  metropolis. 

The  average  rise  and  fall  of  the  tide  is  about  three  feet 
(varying  considerably  with  the  season);  but  this  fall,  on  so 
flat  a  shore,  is  enough  to  cause  continual  movement  in  the 
waters,  and  in  the  main  canals  to  produce  a  reflux  which 
frequently  runs  like  a  mill  stream.  At  high  water  no  land 
is  visible  for  many  miles  to  the  north  or  south  of  Venice, 
except  in  the  form  of  small  islands  crowned  with  towers  or 
gleaming  with  villages ;  there  is  a  channel,  some  three 
miles  wide,  between  the  city  and  the  mainland,  and  some 
mile  and  a  half  wide  between  it  and  the  sandy  breakwater 
called  the  Lido,  which  divides  the  lagoon  from  the  Adriatic, 


194  THE   LAGOONS   OF  VENICE 

but  which  is  so  low  as  hardly  to  disturb  the  impression  of 
the  city's  having  been  built  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean,  al- 
though the  secret  of  its  true  position  is  partly,  yet  not  pain- 
fully, betrayed  by  the  clusters  of  piles  set  to  mark  the  deep 
water  channels,  which  undulate  far  away  in  spotty  chains 
like  the  studded  backs  of  huge  sea-snakes,  and  by  the  quick 
glittering  of  the  crisped  and  crowded  waves  that  flicker  and 
dance  before  the  strong  winds  upon  the  unlifted  level  of  the 
shallow  sea.  But  the  scene  is  widely  different  at  low  tide. 
A  fall  of  eighteen  or  twenty  inches  is  enough  to  show 
ground  over  the  greater  part  of  the  lagoon  ;  and  at  the  com- 
plete ebb,  the  city  is  seen  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  dark 
plain  of  seaweed,  of  gloomy  green,  except  only  where  the 
larger  branches  of  the  Brenta  and  its  associated  streams  con- 
verge towards  the  port  of  the  Lido.  Through  this  salt  and 
sombre  plain  the  gondola  and  the  fishing-boat  advance  by 
tortuous  channels,  seldom  more  than  four  or  five  feet  deep, 
and  often  so  choked  with  slime  that  the  heavier  keels  furrow 
the  bottom  till  their  crossing  tracks  are  seen  through  the 
clear  sea  water  like  the  ruts  upon  a  wintry  road,  and  the  oar 
leaves  the  gashes  upon  the  ground  at  every  stroke,  or  is  en- 
tangled among  the  thick  weed  that  fringes  the  banks  with 
the  weight  of  its  sullen  waves,  leaning  to  and  fro  upon  the 
uncertain  sway  of  the  exhausted  tide.  The  scene  is  often 
profoundly  oppressive,  even  at  this  day,  when  every  plot  of 
higher  ground  bears  some  fragment  of  fair  building  :  but,  in 
order  to  know  what  it  was  once,  let  the  traveller  follow  in 
his  boat  at  evening  the  windings  of  some  unfrequented 
channel  far  into  the  midst  of  the  melancholy  plain  ;  let  him 


THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE  195 

remove  in  his  imagination,  the  brightness  of  the  great  city 
that  still  extends  itself  in  the  distance,  and  the  walls  and 
towers  from  the  islands  that  are  near ;  and  so  wait,  until 
the  bright  investiture  and  sweet  warmth  of  the  sunset  are 
withdrawn  from  the  waters,  and  the  black  desert  of  their 
shore  lies  in  its  nakedness  beneath  the  night,  pathless,  com- 
fortless, infirm,  lost  in  dark  languor  and  fearful  silence,  ex- 
cept where  the  salt  rivulets  plash  into  the  tideless  pools,  or 
the  sea-birds  flit  from  their  margins  with  a  questioning  cry ; 
and  he  will  be  enabled  to  enter  in  some  sort  into  the  horror 
of  heart  with  which  this  solitude  was  anciently  chosen  by 
man  for  his  habitation.  They  little  thought,  who  first  drove 
the  stakes  into  the  sand,  and  strewed  the  ocean  reeds  for 
their  rest,  that  their  children  were  to  be  the  princes  of  the 
ocean,  and  their  palaces  its  pride  ;  and  yet,  in  the  great 
natural  laws  that  rule  that  sorrowful  wilderness,  let  it  be  re- 
membered what  strange  preparation  had  been  made  for  the 
things  which  no  human  imagination  could  have  foretold, 
and  how  the  whole  existence  and  fortune  of  the  Venetian 
nation  were  anticipated  or  compelled,  by  the  setting  of  those 
bars  and  doors  to  the  rivers  and  the  sea.  Had  deeper  currents 
divided  their  islands,  hostile  navies  would  again  and  again  have 
reduced  the  rising  city  into  servitude  ;  had  stronger  surges 
beaten  their  shores,  all  the  riches  and  refinement  of  the 
Venetian  architecture  must  have  been  exchanged  for  the  walls 
and  bulwarks  of  an  ordinary  seaport.  Had  there  been  no 
tide,  as  in  other  parts  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  narrow 
canals  of  the  city  would  have  become  noisome,  and  the 
marsh  in  which  it  was  built  pestiferous.  Had  the  tide  been 


196  THE  LAGOONS   OF  VENICE 

only  a  foot  or  eighteen  inches  higher  in  its  rise,  the  water 
access  to  the  doors  of  the  palaces  would  have  been  impos- 
sible :  even  as  it  is,  there  is  sometimes  a  little  difficulty,  at 
the  ebb,  in  landing  without  setting  foot  upon  the  lower  and 
slippery  steps  ;  and  the  highest  tides  sometimes  enter  the 
courtyards,  and  overflow  the  entrance  halls.  Eighteen 
inches  more  of  difference  between  the  level  of  the  flood 
and  ebb  would  have  rendered  the  doorsteps  of  every  palace, 
at  low  water,  a  treacherous  mass  of  weeds  and  limpets,  and 
the  entire  system  of  water-carriage  for  the  higher  classes,  in 
their  easy  and  daily  intercourse,  must  have  been  done  away 
with.  The  streets  of  the  city  would  have  been  widened, 
its  network  of  canals  filled  up,  and  all  the  peculiar  character 
of  the  place  and  the  people  destroyed. 

The  reader  may  perhaps  have  felt  some  pain  in  the  con- 
trast between  this  faithful  view  of  the  site  of  the  Venetian 
Throne,  and  the  romantic  conception  of  it  which  we 
ordinarily  form ;  but  this  pain,  if  he  have  felt  it,  ought  to  be 
more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  value  of  the  instance 
thus  afforded  to  us  at  once  of  the  inscrutableness  and  the 
wisdom  of  the  ways  of  God.  If,  two  thousand  years  ago, 
we  had  been  permitted  to  watch  the  slow  setting  of  the 
shrine  of  those  turbid  rivers  into  the  polluted  sea,  and  the 
gaining  upon  its  deep  and  fresh  waters  of  the  lifeless, 
impassable,  unvoyageable  plain,  how  little  could  we  have 
understood  the  purpose  with  which  those  islands  were 
shaped  out  of  the  void,  and  the  torpid  waters  enclosed  with 
their  desolate  walls  of  sand  !  How  little  could  we  have 
known,  any  more  than  of  what  now  seems  to  us  most 


THE  LAGOONS  OF  VENICE  197 

distressful,  dark,  and  objectless,  the  glorious  aim  which  was 
then  in  the  mind  of  Him  in  whose  hands  are  all  the  corners 
of  the  earth !  how  little  imagined  that  in  the  laws  which 
were  stretching  forth  the  gloomy  margins  of  those  fruitless 
banks,  and  feeding  the  bitter  grass  among  their  shallows, 
there  was  indeed  a  preparation,  and  the  only  preparation  pos- 
sible, for  the  founding  of  a  city  which  was  to  be  set  like  a 
golden  clasp  on  the  girdle  of  the  earth,  to  write  her  history 
on  the  white  scrolls  of  the  sea-surges,  and  to  word  it  in 
their  thunder,  and  to  gather  and  give  forth,  in  world-wide 
pulsation,  the  glory  of  the  West  and  of  the  East,  from  the 
burning  heart  of  her  Fortitude  and  Splendour  ! 

The  Stones  of  Venice  (Sunnyside,  Orpington,  Kent,  1886). 


THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE 

AMELIA   B.  EDWARDS 

AT  Assuan  one  bids  good-bye  to  Egypt  and  enters 
Nubia  through  the  gates  of  the  Cataract — which  is, 
in  truth,  no  cataract,  but  a  succession  of  rapids  extending 
over  two-thirds  of  the  distance  between  Elephantine  and 
Philas.  The  Nile — diverted  from  its  original  course  by 
some  unrecorded  catastrophe,  the  nature  of  which  has 
given  rise  to  much  scientific  conjecture — here  spreads 
itself  over  a  rocky  basin  bounded  by  sand  slopes  on  the  one 
side,  and  by  granite  cliffs  on  the  other.  Studded  with 
numerous  islets,  divided  into  numberless  channels,  foaming 
over  sunken  rocks,  eddying  among  water-worn  boulders, 
now  shallow,  now  deep,  now  loitering,  now  hurrying,  here 
sleeping  in  the  ribbed  hollow  of  a  tiny  sand-drift,  there 
circling  above  the  vortex  of  a  hidden  whirlpool,  the  river, 
whether  looked  upon  from  the  deck  of  the  dahabeeyah,  or 
the  heights  above  the  shore,  is  seen  everywhere  to  be  fight- 
ing its  way  through  a  labyrinth,  the  paths  of  which  have 
never  yet  been  mapped  or  sounded. 

These  paths  are  everywhere  difficult  and  everywhere 
dangerous  •,  and  to  that  labyrinth  the  Shellalee,  or  Cataract 
Arab,  alone  possesses  the  key.  At  the  time  of  the 
inundation,  when  all  but  the  highest  rocks  are  under  water, 


THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE  1 99 

and  navigation  is  as  easy  here  as  elsewhere,  the  Shellalee's 
occupation  is  gone.  But  as  the  floods  subside  and  travellers 
begin  to  reappear,  his  work  commences.  To  haul  daha- 
beeyahs  up  those  treacherous  rapids  by  sheer  stress  of  rope 
and  muscle ;  to  steer  skillfully  down  again  through  channels 
bristling  with  rocks  and  boiling  with  foam,  becomes  now, 
for  some  five  months  of  the  year,  his  principal  industry.  It 
is  hard  work;  but  he  gets  well  paid  for  it,  and  his  profits 
are  always  on  the  increase.  From  forty  to  fifty  dahabeeyahs 
are  annually  taken  up  between  November  and  March  ;  and 
every  year  brings  a  larger  influx  of  travellers.  Meanwhile, 
accidents  rarely  happen ;  prices  tend  continually  upward ; 
and  the  Cataract  Arabs  make  a  little  fortune  by  their  sin- 
gular monopoly. 

The  scenery  of  the  First  Cataract  is  like  nothing  else  in 
the  world — except  the  scenery  of  the  Second.  It  is  alto- 
gether new  and  strange  and  beautiful.  It  is  incomprehen- 
sible that  travellers  should  have  written  of  it  in  general 
with  so  little  admiration.  They  seem  to  have  been 
impressed  by  the  wildness  of  the  waters,  by  the  quaint 
forms  of  the  rocks,  by  the  desolation  and  grandeur  of  the 
landscape  as  a  whole ;  but  scarcely  at  all  by  its  beauty — 
which  is  paramount. 

The  Nile  here  widens  to  a  lake.  Of  the  islands,  which 
it  would  hardly  be  an  exaggeration  to  describe  as  some 
hundreds  in  number,  no  two  are  alike.  Some  are  piled  up 
like  the  rocks  at  the  Land's  End  in  Cornwall,  block  upon 
block,  column  upon  column,  tower  upon  tower,  as  if  reared 
by  the  hand  of  man.  Some  are  green  with  grass  i  some 


200  THE  CATARACTS  OF   THE  NILE 

golden  with  slopes  of  drifted  sand  ;  some  are  planted  with 
rows  of  blossoming  lupins,  purple  and  white.  Others  are 
again  mere  cairns  of  loose  blocks,  with  here  and  there  a 
perilously  balanced  top-boulder.  On  one,  a  singular  up- 
right monolith,  like  a  menhir,  stands  conspicuous,  as  if 
placed  there  to  commemorate  a  date,  or  to  point  the  way 
to  Philae.  Another  mass  rises  out  of  the  water  squared 
and  buttressed,  in  the  likeness  of  a  fort.  A  third,  humped 
and  shining  like  the  wet  body  of  some  amphibious  beast, 
lifts  what  seems  to  be  a  horned  head  above  the  surface  of 
the  rapids.  All  these  blocks  and  boulders  and  fantastic 
rocks  are  granite;  some  red,  some  purple,  some  black. 
Their  forms  are  rounded  by  the  friction  of  ages.  Those 
nearest  the  brink  reflect  the  sky  like  mirrors  of  burnished 
steel.  Royal  ovals  and  hieroglyphed  inscriptions,  fresh  as 
of  yesterday's  cutting,  stand  out  here  and  there  from  those 
glittering  surfaces  with  startling  distinctness.  A  few  of  the 
larger  islands  are  crowned  with  clumps  of  palms;  and  one, 
the  loveliest  of  any,  is  completely  embowered  in  gum-trees 
and  acacias,  dom  and  date-palms,  and  feathery  tamarisks, 
all  festooned  together  under  a  hanging  canopy  of  yellow- 
blossomed  creepers. 

On  a  brilliant  Sunday  morning,  with  a  favourable  wind, 
we  entered  on  this  fairy  archipelago.  Sailing  steadily 
against  the  current,  we  glided  away  from  Assuan,  left 
Elephantine  behind,  and  found  ourselves  at  once  in  the 
midst  of  the  islands.  From  this  moment  every  turn  of  the 
tiller  disclosed  a  fresh  point  of  view,  and  we  sat  on  deck, 
spectators  of  a  moving  panorama.  The  diversity  of  sub- 


THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE  2OI 

jects  was  endless.  The  combinations  of  form  and  colour, 
of  light  and  shadow,  of  foreground  and  distance,  were  con- 
tinually changing.  A  boat  or  a  few  figures  alone  were 
wanting  to  complete  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene,  but 
in  all  those  channels  and  among  all  those  islands,  we  saw 
no  sign  of  any  living  creature. 

The  Second  or  Great  Cataract,  begins  a  little  way  above 
Wady  Halfeh  and  extends  over  a  distance  of  many  miles. 
It  consists,  like  the  First  Cataract,  of  a  succession  of  rocks 
and  rapids,  and  is  skirted  for  the  first  five  miles  or  so  by  the 
sand-cliff  ridge,  which,  as  I  have  said,  forms  a  background 
to  the  ruins  just  opposite  Wady  Halfeh.  This  ridge 
terminates  abruptly  in  the  famous  precipice  known  as  the 
Rock  of  Abusir.  Only  adventurous  travellers  bound  for 
Dongola  or  Khartum  go  beyond  this  point ;  and  they,  for  the 
most  part,  take  the  shorter  route  across  the  desert  from 
Korosko. 

It  is  hard,  now  that  we  are  actually  here,  to  realize  that 
this  is  the  end  of  our  journey.  The  Cataract — an  immense 
multitude  of  black  and  shining  islets,  among  which  the 
river,  divided  into  hundreds  of  separate  channels,  spreads  far 
and  wide  for  a  distance,  it  is  said  of  more  than  sixteen 
miles, — foams  at  our  feet.  Foams,  and  frets,  and  falls ; 
gushing  smooth  and  strong  where  its  course  is  free ;  mur- 
muring hoarsely  where  it  is  interrupted  ;  now  hurrying ;  now 
loitering ;  here  eddying  in  oily  circles ;  there  lying  in  still 
pools  unbroken  by  a  ripple  ;  everywhere  full  of  life,  full  of 
voices ;  everywhere  shining  to  the  sun.  Northwards, 
when  it  winds  away  towards  Abou  Simbel,  we  see 


202        THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE 

all  the  fantastic  mountains  of  yesterday  on  the  horizon. 
To  the  east,  still  bounded  by  out-liers  of  the  same  discon- 
nected chain,  lies  a  rolling  waste  of  dark  and  stony  wilder- 
ness, trenched  with  innumerable  valleys  through  which 
flow  streams  of  sand.  On  the  western  side,  the  continuity 
of  the  view  is  interrupted  by  the  ridge  which  ends  with 
Abusir.  Southward  the  Libyan  desert  reaches  away  in  one 
vast  undulating  plain  ;  tawny,  arid,  monotonous  ;  all  sun  ; 
all  sand ;  lit  here  and  there  with  arrowy  flashes  of  the  Nile. 
Farthest  of  all,  pale  but  distinct,  on  the  outermost  rim  of 
the  world,  rise  two  mountain  summits,  one  long,  one  dome- 
like. Our  Nubians  tell  us  that  they  are  the  mountains  of 
Dongola.  Comparing  our  position  with  that  of  the  Third 
Cataract  as  it  appears  upon  the  map,  we  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  these  ghost-like  silhouettes  are  the  summits  of 
Mount  Fogo  and  Mount  Arambo — two  apparently  parallel 
mountains  situate  on  opposite  sides  of  the  river  about  ten 
miles  below  Hannek,  and  consequently  about  one  hundred 
and  forty-five  miles,  as  the  bird  flies,  from  the  spot  on 
which  we  are  standing. 

In  this  extraordinary  panorama,  so  wild,  so  weird,  so 
desolate,  there  is  nothing  really  beautiful,  except  the  colour. 
But  the  colour  is  transcendent.  Never,  even  in  Egypt, 
have  I  seen  anything  so  tender,  so  transparent,  so  harmoni- 
ous. I  shut  my  eyes,  and  it  all  comes  before  me.  I  see 
the  amber  of  the  sands  ;  the  pink  and  pearly  mountains ; 
the  Cataract  rocks  all  black  and  purple  and  polished  ;  the 
dull  grey  palms  that  cluster  here  and  there  upon  the  larger 
islands ;  the  vivid  verdure  of  the  tamarisks  and  pomegran- 


THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE  203 

ates ;  the  Nile,  a  greenish  brown  flecked  with  yeasty  foam ; 
over  all,  the  blue  and  burning  sky,  permeated  with  light,  and 
palpitating  with  sunshine. 

I  made  no  sketch.  I  felt  that  it  would  be  ludicrous  to  at- 
tempt it.  And  I  feel  now  that  any  endeavour  to  put  the 
scene  into  words  is  a  mere  presumptuous  effort  to  describe 
the  indescribable.  Words  are  useful  instruments ;  but,  like 
the  etching  needle  and  the  burin,  they  stop  short  at  form. 
They  cannot  translate  colour. 

If  a  traveller  pressed  for  time  asked  me  whether  he 
should  or  should  not  go  as  far  as  the  Second  Cataract,  I 
think  I  should  recommend  him  to  turn  back  from  Abou 
Simbel.  The  trip  must  cost  four  days ;  and  if  the  wind 
should  happen  to  be  unfavourable  either  way,  it  may  cost 
six  or  seven.  The  forty  miles  of  river  that  have  to  be 
twice  traversed  are  the  dullest  on  the  Nile ;  the  Cataract  is 
but  an  enlarged  and  barren  edition  of  the  Cataract  between 
Assuan  and  Philas ;  and  the  great  view,  as  I  have  said,  has 
not  that  kind  of  beauty  which  attracts  the  general  tourist. 

It  has  an  interest,  however,  beyond  and  apart  from  that 
of  beauty.  It  rouses  one's  imagination  to  a  sense  of  the 
greatness  of  the  Nile.  We  look  across  a  world  of  desert, 
and  see  the  river  still  coming  from  afar.  We  have  reached 
a  point  at  which  all  that  is  habitable  and  familiar  comes 
abruptly  to  an  end.  Not  a  village,  not  a  bean-field,  not  a 
shaduf,  not  a  sakkieh,  is  to  be  seen  in  the  plain  below.  There 
is  no  sail  on  these  dangerous  waters.  There  is  no  moving 
creature  on  these  pathless  sands.  But  for  the  telegraphic 
wires  stalking  ghost-like,  across  the  desert,  it  would  seem 


204  THE  CATARACTS  OF  THE  NILE 

as  if  we   had   touched  the  limit   of  civilization,  and  were 
standing  on  the  threshold  of  a  land  unexplored. 

Yet  for  all  this,  we  feel  as  if  we  were  at  only  the  begin- 
ning of  the  mighty  river.  We  have  journeyed  well-nigh  a 
thousand  miles  against  the  stream  ;  but  what  is  that  to  the 
distance  which  still  lies  between  us  and  the  Great  Lakes  ? 
And  how  far  beyond  the  Great  Lakes  must  we  seek  for 
the  source  that  is  even  yet  undiscovered  ? 

A  Thousand  Miles  Up  the  Nile  (London,  1890). 


IN  THE  ALPS 
THfeOPHILE  GAUTIER 

THE  foot  of  the  high  mountains  that  form  the  chain 
of  Mount  Blanc,  clothed  with  forests  and  pastures, 
revealed  hues  of  delightful  intensity  and  vigour.  Imagine  an 
immense  piece  of  green  velvet  crumpled  into  large  folds 
like  the  curtain  of  a  theatre  with  the  deep  black  of  its  hollows 
and  the  golden  glitterings  of  its  lights ;  this  is  a  very  faint 
image  for  the  grandeur  of  the  object,  but  I  know  of  none 
that  could  better  describe  the  effect. 

Scheele's  green,  mineral  green,  all  those  greens  that  re- 
sult from  the  combinations  of  Prussian  blue  and  yellow 
ochre,  or  Naples  yellow,  the  mixture  of  indigo  and  Indian 
yellow,  Veronese  green  and  vert  prasin  could  not  reproduce 
that  quality  of  green  that  we  might  properly  call  mountain 
green  and  which  passes  from  velvety  black  into  the  tender- 
est  shades  of  green.  In  this  play  of  shades,  the  firs  form 
the  shadows  ;  the  deciduous  trees  and  the  spaces  of  meadow 
or  moss,  the  lights.  The  undulations  and  the  cleft  ravines 
of  the  mountain  break  these  great  masses  of  green,  this  vig- 
orous foreground,  this  energetic  repoussoir,  rendering  the 
light  tones  of  the  zones,  (bare  of  verdue  and  crowned  by 
the  high  lights  of  the  snows,)  more  vaporous  and  throwing 
them  back.  In  the  various  more  open  places,  the  grass  grows 


206  IN  THE  ALPS 

green  in  the  sun;  and  trees  resembling  little  black  patches 
sown  upon  this  light  ground  give  it  the  appearance  of  tufted 
material.  But  when  we  speak  of  trees  and  firs,  woods  and 
forests,  do  not  picture  to  yourselves  anything  but  vast  blots 
of  dark  moss  upon  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  :  the  high- 
est trunks  there  assume  the  proportion  of  a  blade  of  grass. 
The  road  turns  towards  the  left,  and,  gliding  between 
stones  and  blocks  that  have  fallen  down  or  drifted  into  the 
valley  by  means  of  the  winter  torrents  and  avalanches,  soon 
enters  a  forest  of  birch-trees,  firs,  and  larches  whose  open- 
ings allow  you  to  see  on  the  other  side  the  Aiguilles  Rouges 
and  le  Brevent,  which  face  Montanvert.  The  ascent  was 
gentle  enough  and  the  mules  climbed  it  with  easy  gait ;  in 
comparison  with  the  road  which  we  scaled  the  night  be- 
fore to  go  to  the  Pierre  pointue,  the  route  was  a  true  alley 
of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  The  zigzags  of  the  road 
turned  at  angles  sufficiently  long  not  to  fatigue  either  the 
rider  or  his  mount.  The  sunlight  played  in  the  foliage  of 
the  forest  that  we  traversed  and  made  a  shadow  shot 
through  with  rays  float  over  us.  Upon  the  rocks  at  the 
foot  of  the  trees,  mosses  of  emerald  green  gleamed  and 
lovely  little  wild  flowers  brightly  bloomed,  while  in  the 
spaces  through  the  branches  a  bluish  mist  betrayed  the  depth 
of  the  abyss,  for  the  little  caravan,  going  along  single  file 
and  constantly  ascending,  had  now  reached  the  Caillet 
fountain,  which  is  regarded  as  half-way  up  the  mountain. 
This  fountain,  of  excellent  water,  runs  into  a  wooden 
trough.  The  mules  halt  there  to  drink.  A  cabin  is  built 
near  the  fountain  and  they  offer  you  a  glass  of  water  made 


IN  THE  ALPS  207 

opalescent  with  a  few  drops  of  kirsch,  cognac,  beer,  and 
other  refreshments.  We  regaled  our  guides  with  a  glass  of 
brandy,  which,  notwithstanding  their  sobriety,  they  seemed 
to  prefer  to  that  diamond  liquid  that  sprang  from  the 
rock. 

From  this  point,  the  road  began  to  grow  steeper ;  the 
ascents  multiplied  without,  however,  offering  any  difficulties 
to  mules  or  pedestrians.  The  air  became  more  keen. 
The  forest  grew  lighter,  the  trees  stood  at  greater  intervals 
from  each  other  and  stopped  as  if  out  of  breath.  They 
seemed  to  say  to  us,  "  Now,  go  up  alone,  we  cannot  go 
any  further."  The  rounded  plateau  that  we  mount  by 
keeping  to  the  right  is  not  desolate  and  denuded  as  one 
would  believe ;  a  grass,  sturdy  enough  and  enamelled  with 
Alpine  flowers,  forms  its  carpet,  and  when  you  have  gone 
beyond  it,  you  perceive  the  chalet  or  inn  of  Montanvert 
below  the  Aiguille  de  Charmoz. 

From  this  plateau  you  have  a  superb  view,  an  astonish- 
ing, apocalyptic  view,  beyond  all  dreams.  At  your  feet, 
between  two  banks  of  gigantic  peaks,  flows  motionless,  as 
if  congealed  during  the  tumult  of  a  tempest,  that  broad 
river  of  crystal  which  is  called  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and 
which  lower  towards  the  plain  is  called  the  Glacier  des 
Bois.  The  Mer  de  Glace  comes  from  a  high  altitude  ;  it 
receives  many  glaciers  as  a  river  its  tributaries.  We  will 
speak  of  it  presently,  but  for  the  moment  let  us  occupy 
ourselves  with  the  spectacle  that  unfolds  beneath  our  eyes. 

Opposite  the  inn  of  Montanvert,  the  glacier  is  half  a 
league  from  one  bank  to  the  other,  perhaps  even  more,  for 


208  IN  THE  ALPS 

it  is  difficult  to  guage  distance  in  the  mountains  with  ex- 
actness ;  it  is  about  the  width  of  the  Thames,  the  Neva  or 
the  Guadalquiver  towards  their  mouth.  But  the  slope  is 
much  more  abrupt  than  was  ever  that  of  any  river.  It  de- 
scends by  large  waves  rounded  at  their  tops,  like  billows 
that  never  break  into  foam  and  whose  hollows  take  a  bluish 
colour.  When  the  ground  that  serves  as  a  bed  for  this 
torrent  of  ice  becomes  too  abrupt,  the  mass  is  dislocated 
and  breaks  up  into  slabs  that  rest  one  upon  the  other  and 
which  resemble  those  little  columns  of  white  marble  in  the 
Turkish  cemeteries  that  are  forced  to  lean  to  right  or  left 
by  their  own  weight ;  crevasses  more  or  less  wide  and  deep 
manifest  themselves,  opening  the  immense  block  and  re- 
vealing the  virgin  ice  in  all  its  purity.  The  walls  of  these 
crevasses  assume  magical  colours,  tints  of  an  azure  grotto. 
An  ideal  blue  that  is  neither  the  blue  of  the  sky  nor  the 
blue  of  the  water,  but  the  blue  of  ice,  an  unnamed  tone 
that  is  never  found  on  the  artist's  palette  illumines  these 
splendid  clefts  and  turns  sometimes  to  a  green  of  aqua  ma- 
rine or  mother  of  pearl  by  gradations  of  astonishing  del- 
icacy. On  the  other  bank,  clearly  detached  by  its 
sharp  escarpment  like  the  spire  of  a  gigantic  cathedral,  the 
high  Aiguille  du  Dru  rises  with  so  proud,  so  elegant,  and  so 
bold  a  spring.  Ascending  the  glacier,  the  Aiguille  Verte 
stands  out  in  front  of  it,  being  even  higher  though  the  per- 
spective makes  it  appear  lower.  From  the  foot  of  the  Aiguille 
du  Dru,  like  a  rivulet  towards  a  river,  descends  the  Mont 
Blanc  glacier.  A  little  further  to  the  right,  the  Aiguille  du 
Maine  and  that  of  Lecbaud  show  themselves,  obelisks  of 


IN  THE  ALPS  209 

granite  which  the  sunlight  tints  with  reflections  of  rose  and 
the  snow  makes  gleam  with  several  touches  of  silver.  It 
is  difficult  to  express  in  words  the  unexpected  outlines,  the 
strange  flashes,  the  tops  cut  and  indented  in  the  form  of 
saw-teeth,  gable-ends  and  crosses  that  are  affected  by  these 
inaccessible  peaks  with  almost  vertical  walls, — often  even 
sloping  outwards  and  overhanging.  Running  your  eye  along 
the  same  bank  of  the  glacier  and  descending  towards  the 
valley,  you  see  the  Aiguille  du  Bochard,  le  Ckapeau,  which 
is  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  rounded  mountain,  grassy 
and  enamelled  with  flowers,  not  so  high  as  Montanvert, 
and  the  forests  which  have  given  to  this  portion  of  the  Mer 
de  Glace  the  name  of  Glacier  des  Bois,  bordering  it  with  a 
line  of  sombre  verdure. 

There  are  in  the  Mer  de  Glace  two  veins  that  divide  it 
throughout  its  length  like  the  currents  of  two  rivers  that 
never  mingle :  a  black  vein  and  a  white  vein.  The  black 
one  flows  by  the  side  of  the  bank  where  the  Aiguille  du  Dru 
rears  itself,  and  the  white  one  bathes  the  foot  of  Mon- 
tanvert ;  but  words  when  we  speak  of  colour  only  half  de- 
scribe shades,  and  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  this  de- 
marcation is  as  clearly  defined  as  we  have  indicated.  It  is, 
however,  very  sensible. 

On  looking  towards  the  upper  portion  of  the  glacier,  at 
the  spot  where  it  precipitates  itself  into  the  rock  passage 
which  conducts  it  to  the  valley  like  a  furiously  boiling  cas- 
cade with  wild  spurts  which  some  magic  power  has  turned 
into  ice  at  its  strongest  leap,  you  discover,  arranged  like  an 
amphitheatre,  the  Montague  des  Periades^the  Petttes  Jor asses, 


210  IN  THE  ALPS 

the  Grandes  Jorasses^  and  the  Aiguille  du  Geant^  covered 
with  eternal  snow,  the  white  diadem  of  the  Alps  which  the 
suns  of  summer  are  powerless  to  melt  and  which  scintillate 
with  a  pure  and  cold  brilliancy  in  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Periades,  the  glacier,  as  may  be  seen 
from  Montanvert,  divides  into  two  branches,  one  of  which 
ascends  towards  the  east  and  takes  the  name  of  the  Glacier 
de  Lechaud,  while  the  other  takes  its  course  behind  the 
Aiguilles  de  Cha mount  towards  Mont  Blanc  du  7tf<:W,  and  is 
called  the  Glacier  du  G'eant.  A  third  branch,  named  the 
Glacier  du  Talifre,  spreads  out  over  the  slopes  of  the 
Aiguille  Verte. 

It  is  in  the  middle  of  the  Talifre  where  lies  that  oasis  of 
the  glaciers  that  is  called  the  Jardin,  a  kind  of  basket  of 
Alpine  flowers,  which  find  there  a  pinch  of  vegetable  earth, 
a  few  rays  of  sunshine,  and  a  girdle  of  stones  that  isolate 
them  from  the  neighbouring  ice ;  but  to  climb  to  the  Jar- 
din  is  a  long,  fatiguing  and  even  dangerous  excursion,  neces- 
sitating a  night's  sleep  at  the  chalet  of  Montanvert. 

We  resumed  our  journey  not  without  having  gathered  sev- 
eral bunches  of  rhododendrons  of  the  freshest  green  and 
brightest  rose,  that  opened  in  the  liberty  and  solitude  of  the 
mountains  by  means  of  the  pure  Alpine  breeze.  You  de- 
scend by  the  same  route  more  rapidly  than  you  ascended. 

The  mules  stepped  gaily  by  the  side  of  their  leaders,  who 
carried  the  sticks,  canes  and  umbrellas,  which  had  now  be- 
come useless.  We  traversed  the  forest  of  pines  pierced 
here  and  there  by  the  torrents  of  stones  of  the  avalanches  ; 
we  gained  the  plain  and  were  soon  at  Chamouni  to  go  to 


IN  THE  ALPS  211 

the  source  of  the  Arveiron,  which  is  found  at  the  base  of 
the  Glacier  des  Bois,  the  name  that  is  assumed  by  the  Mer 
de  Glace  on  arriving  in  the  valley. 

This  is  an  excursion  that  you  can  make  in  a  carriage. 
You  follow  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  cross  the  Arve  at  the 
hamlet  of  Praz,  and  after  having  passed  the  Hameau  des 
Bois,  where  you  must  alight,  you  arrive,  winding  among 
masses  of  rocks  in  disorder  and  pools  of  water  across  which 
logs  are  placed,  at  the  wall  of  the  glacier,  which  reveals  it- 
self by  its  slit  and  tortured  edges,  full  of  cavities  and  gashes 
where  the  blue-green  hatchings  colour  the  transparent 
whiteness  of  the  mass. 

The  white  teeth  of  the  glacier  stand  out  clearly  against 
the  sombre  green  of  the  forests  of  Bochard  and  Montanvert 
and  are  majestically  dominated  by  the  Aiguille  flu  Dru, 
which  shoots  its  granite  obelisk  three  thousand  nine  hundred 
and  six  metres  into  the  depths  of  the  sky,  and  the  foreground 
is  formed  by  the  most  prodigious  confusion  of  stones,  rocks 
and  blocks  that  a  painter  could  wish  for  giving  value  to 
those  vapourous  depths.  The  Arveiron  foams  and  roars 
across  this  chaos  and,  after  half  an  hour  of  frantic  disordered 
course,  loses  itself  in  the  Arve. 

Les  Vacancesde  Lundi  (Paris,  1881). 


THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR 

ANDREW  WILSON 

ALMOST  every  one  longs,  and  many  hope,  to  see 
the  beautiful  Vale  of  Kashmir.  Probably  no  re- 
gion of  the  earth  is  so  well  known  to  the  eye  of  imagina- 
tion, or  so  readily  suggests  the  idea  of  a  terrestrial  Paradise. 
So  far  from  having  been  disappointed  with  the  reality,  or 
having  experienced  any  cause  for  wishing  that  I  had  left 
Kashmir  unvisited,  I  can  most  sincerely  say  that  the  beau- 
tiful reality  excels  the  somewhat  vague  poetic  vision  which 
has  been  associated  with  the  name.  But  Kashmir  is  rather 
a  difficult  country  to  get  at,  especially  when  you  come  down 
upon  it  from  behind  by  way  of  Zanskar  and  Suru.  Ac- 
cording to  tradition,  it  was  formerly  the  Garden  of  Eden  ; 
and  one  is  very  well  disposed  to  accept  that  theory  when 
trying  to  get  into  it  from  the  north  or  northwest. 

After  months  of  the  sterile,  almost  treeless  Tibetan  prov- 
inces, the  contrast  was  very  striking,  and  I  could  not  but 
revel  in  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  vegetation ;  but  even 
to  one  who  had  come  up  upon  it  from  below,  the  scene 
would  have  been  very  striking.  There  was  a  large  and 
lively  encampment  at  the  foot  of  the  pass,  with  tents  pre- 
pared for  the  Yarkand  envoy,  and  a  number  of  Kashmir 
officers  and  soldiers  ;  but  I  pushed  on  beyond  that,  and 


THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR  213 

camped  in  solitude  close  to  the  Sind  river,  just  beneath  the 
Panjtarne  valley,  which  leads  up  towards  the  caves  of  Am- 
bernath,  a  celebrated  place  for  Hindu  pilgrimage.  This 
place  is  called  Baltal,  but  it  has  no  human  habitations. 
Smooth  green  meadows,  carpet-like-  and  embroidered  with 
flowers,  extended  to  the  silvery  stream,  above  which  there 
was  the  most  varied  luxuriance  of  foliage,  the  lower  moun- 
tains being  most  richly  clothed  with  woods  of  many  and 
beautiful  colours.  It  was  late  autumn,  and  the  trees  were 
in  their  greatest  variety  of  colour ;  but  hardly  a  leaf  seemed 
to  have  fallen.  The  dark  green  of  the  pines  contrasted 
beautifully  with  the  delicate  orange  of  the  birches,  because 
there  were  intermingling  tints  of  brown  and  saffron.  Great 
masses  of  foliage  were  succeeded  by  solitary  pines,  which 
had  found  a  footing  high  up  the  precipitous  crags. 

And  all  this  was  combined  with  peaks  and  slopes  of  pure 
white  snow.  Aiguilles  of  dark  rock  rose  out  of  beds  of 
snow,  but  their  faces  were  powdered  with  the  same  ele- 
ment. Glaciers  and  long  beds  of  snow  ran  down  the  val- 
leys, and  the  upper  vegetation  had  snow  for  its  bed.  The 
effect  of  sunset  upon  this  scene  was  wonderful ;  for  the 
colours  it  displayed  were  both  heightened  and  more  harmo- 
niously blended.  The  golden  light  of  eve  brought  out  the 
warm  tints  of  the  forest ;  but  the  glow  of  the  reddish-brown 
precipices,  and  the  rosy  light  upon  the  snowy  slopes  and 
peaks,  were  too  soon  succeeded  by  the  cold  grey  of  evening. 
At  first,  however,  the  wondrous  scene  was  still  visible  in  a 
quarter-moon's  silvery  light,  in  which  the  Panjtarne  valley 
was  in  truth  — 


214  THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR 

"A  wild  romantic  chasm  that  slanted 

Down  the  sweet  hill  athwart  a  cedarn  cover  — 
A  savage  place,  as  holy  and  enchanted 
As  e'er  beneath  the  waning  moon  was  haunted 
By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon  lover." 

The  demon  lovers  to  be  met  with  in  that  wild  valley  are 
bears,  which  are  in  abundance,  and  a  more  delightful  place 
for  a  hunter  to  spend  a  month  in  could  hardly  be  invented ; 
but  he  would  have  to  depend  on  his  rifle  for  supplies,  or 
have  them  sent  up  from  many  miles  down  the  Sind  valley. 

The  remainder  of  my  journey  down  the  latter  valley  to 
the  great  valley  or  small  plain  of  Kashmir  was  delightful; 
A  good  deal  of  rain  fell,  but  that  made  one  appreciate  the 
great  trees  all  the  more,  for  the  rain  was  not  continuous, 
and  was  mingled  with  sunshine.  At  times,  during  the 
season  when  I  saw  it,  this  "  inland  depth  "  is  "  roaring 
like  the  sea  ;  " 

"While  trees,  dim-seen  in  frenzied  numbers  tear 
The  lingering  remnant  of  their  yellow  hair ;  " 

but  soon  after  it  is  bathed  in  perfect  peace  and  mellow  sun- 
light. The  air  was  soft  and  balmy ;  but,  at  this  transfer 
from  September  to  October,  it  was  agreeably  cool  even  to 
a  traveller  from  the  abodes  and  sources  of  snow.  As  we 
descended,  the  pine-forests  were  confined  to  the  mountain- 
slopes;  but  the  lofty  deodar  began  to  appear  in  the  valley, 
as  afterwards  the  sycamore,  the  elm,  and  the  horse-chest- 
nut. Round  the  picturesque  villages,  and  even  forming 
considerable  woods,  there  were  fruit-trees — as  the  walnut, 
the  chestnut,  the  peach,  the  apricot,  the  apple,  and  the 


THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR  215 

pear.  Large  quantities  of  timber  (said  to  be  cut  recklessly) 
was  in  course  of  being  floated  down  the  river;  and  where 
the  path  led  across  it  there  were  curious  wooden  bridges  for 
which  it  was  not  necessary  to  dismount.  This  Sind  valley 
is  about  sixty  miles  long,  and  varies  in  breadth  from  a  few 
hundred  yards  to  about  a  mile,  except  at  its  base,  where  it 
opens  out  considerably.  It  is  considered  to  afford  the  best 
idea  of  the  mingled  beauty  and  grandeur  of  Kashmir 
scenery ;  and  when  I  passed  through  its  appearance  was 
greatly  enhanced  by  the  snow,  which  not  only  covered  the 
mountain-tops,  but  also  came  down  into  the  forests  which 
clothed  the  mountain-sides.  The  path  through  it,  being 
part  of  the  great  road  from  Kashmir  to  Central  Asia,  is 
kept  in  tolerable  repair,  and  it  is  very  rarely  that  the  rider 
requires  to  dismount.  Anything  beyond  a  walking-pace, 
however,  is  for  the  most  part  out  of  the  question.  Mont- 
gomerie  divides  the  journey  from  Srinagar  to  Baltal  (where 
I  camped  below  the  Zoji  La)  into  six  marches,  making  in 
all  sixty-seven  miles;  and  though  two  of  these  marches 
may  be  done  in  one  day,  yet  if  you  are  to  travel  easily  and 
enjoy  the  scenery,  one  a  day  is  sufficient.  The  easiest 
double  march  is  from  Sonamarg  to  Gond,  and  I  did  it  in  a 
day  with  apparent  ease  on  a  very  poor  pony ;  but  the  con- 
sequence is  that  I  beat  my  brains  in  order  to  recall  what 
sort  of  a  place  Gond  was,  no  distinct  recollection  of  it 
having  been  left  on  my  mind,  except  of  a  grove  of  large 
trees  and  a  roaring  fire  in  front  of  my  tent  at  night. 
Sonamarg  struck  me  as  a  very  pleasant  place;  and  I  had 
there,  in  the  person  of  a  youthful  captain  from  Abbotabad, 


21 6  THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR 

the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  first  European  I  had  seen  since 
leaving  Lahaul.  We  dined  together,  and  I  found  he  had 
come  up  from  Srinagar  to  see  Sonamarg,  and  he  spoke  with 
great  enthusiasm  of  a  view  he  had  had,  from  another  part 
of  Kashmir,  of  the  26,000  feet  mountain  Nanga  Parbat. 
Marg  means  "  meadow,"  and  seems  to  be  applied  especially 
to  elevated  meadows;  sona  stands  for  "golden":  and  this 
place  is  a  favourite  resort  in  the  hot  malarious  months  of 
July  and  August,  both  for  Europeans  in  Kashmir  and  for 
natives  of  rank. 

At  Ganderbahl  I  was  fairly  in  the  great  valley  of 
Kashmir,  and  encamped  under  some  enormous  chunar  or 
sycamore  trees ;  the  girth  of  one  was  so  great  that  its  trunk 
kept  my  little  mountain-tent  quite  sheltered  from  the  furious 
blasts.  Truly  — 

•'  There  was  a  roaring  in  the  wind  all  night, 
The  rain  fell  heavily,  and  fell  in  floods, 

but  that  gigantic  chunar  kept  off  both  wind  and  rain  won- 
derfully. Next  day  a  small  but  convenient  and  quaint 
Kashmir  boat  took  me  up  to  Srinagar;  and  it  was  delight- 
ful to  glide  up  the  backwaters  of  the  Jhelam,  which  af- 
forded a  highway  to  the  capital.  It  was  the  commence- 
ment and  the  promise  of  repose,  which  I  very  sadly 
needed,  and  in  a  beautiful  land. 

I  afterwards  went  up  to  Islamabad,  Martand,  Achibal, 
Vernag,  the  Rozlu  valley,  and  finally  went  out  of  Kash- 
mir by  way  of  the  Manas  and  Wular  Lakes,  and  the 
lower  valley  of  the  Jhelam,  so  that  I  saw  the  most 


THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR  217 

interesting  places  in  the  country,  and  all  the  varieties 
of  scenery  which  it  affords.  That  country  has  been  so 
often  visited  and  described,  that,  with  one  or  two  ex- 
ceptions, I  shall  only  touch  generally  upon  its  charac- 
teristics. It  doubtless  owes  some  of  its  charm  to  the 
character  of  the  regions  in  its  neighbourhood.  As  com- 
pared with  the  burning  plains  of  India,  the  sterile  steppes 
of  Tibet,  and  the  savage  mountains  of  the  Himalaya  and 
of  Afghanistan,  it  presents  an  astonishing  and  beautiful 
contrast.  After  such  scenes  even  a  much  more  common- 
place country  might  have  afforded  a  good  deal  of  the  en- 
thusiasm which  Kashmir  has  excited  in  Eastern  poetry,  and 
even  in  common  rumour;  but  beyond  that  it  has  char- 
acteristics which  give  it  a  distinct  place  among  the  most 
pleasing  regions  of  the  earth.  I  said  to  the  Maharajah,  or 
ruling  Prince  of  Kashmir,  that  the  most  beautiful  countries 
I  had  seen  were  England,  Italy,  Japan,  and  Kashmir;  and 
though  he  did  not  seem  to  like  the  remark  much,  probably 
from  a  fear  that  the  beauty  of  the  land  he  governed 
might  make  it  too  much  an  object  of  desire,  yet  there  was 
no  exaggeration  in  it.  Here,  at  a  height  of  nearly  6,000 
feet,  in  a  temperate  climate,  with  abundance  of  moisture, 
and  yet  protected  by  lofty  mountains  from  the  fierce  con- 
tinuous rains  of  the  Indian  southwest  monsoon,  we  have 
the  most  splendid  amphitheatre  in  the  world.  A  flat  oval 
valley  about  sixty  miles  long,  and  from  forty  in  breadth,  is 
surrounded  by  magnificent  mountains,  which,  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  year,  are  covered  more  than  half-way 
down  with  snow,  and  present  vast  upland  beds  of  pure 


2l8  THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR 

white  snow.  This  valley  has  fine  lakes,  is  intersected 
with  water-courses,  and  its  land  is  covered  with  brilliant 
vegetation,  including  gigantic  trees  of  the  richest  foliage. 
And  out  of  this  great  central  valley  there  rise  innumerable, 
long,  picturesque  mountain-valleys,  such  as  that  of  the 
Sind  river,  which  I  have  just  described ;  while  above  these 
there  are  great  pine-forests,  green  slopes  of  grass,  glaciers, 
and  snow.  Nothing  could  express  the  general  effect  better 
than  Moore's  famous  lines  on  sainted  Lebanon  — 

"  Whose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  towers, 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet; 
While  Summer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers, 
Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet." 

The  great  encircling  walls  of  rock  and  snow  contrast 
grandly  with  the  soft  beauty  of  the  scene  beneath.  The 
snows  have  a  wonderful  effect  as  we  look  up  to  them 
through  the  leafy  branches  of  the  immense  chiinar,  elm,  and 
poplar  trees.  They  flash  gloriously  in  the  morning  sun- 
light above  the  pink  mist  of  the  valley-plain  ;  they  have  a 
rosy  glow  in  the  evening  sunlight;  and  when  the  sunlight 
has  departed,  but  ere  darkness  shrouds  them,  they  gleam, 
afar  off,  with  a  cold  and  spectral  light,  as  if  they  belonged 
to  a  region  where  man  had  never  trod.  The  deep  black 
gorges  in  the  mountains  have  a  mysterious  look.  The  sun 
lights  up  some  softer  grassy  ravine  or  green  slope,  and  then 
displays  splintered  rocks  rising  in  the  wildest  confusion. 
Often  long  lines  of  white  clouds  lie  along  the  line  of 
mountain-summits,  while  at  other  times  every  white  peak 
and  precipice-wall  is  distinctly  marked  against  the  deep- 


THE  VALE  OF  KASHMIR  219 

blue  sky.  The  valley-plain  is  especially  striking  in  clear 
mornings  and  evenings,  where  it  lies  partly  in  golden  sun- 
light, partly  in  the  shadow  of  its  great  hills. 

The  green  mosaic  of  the  level  land  is  intersected  by  many 
streams,  canals  or  lakes,  or  beautiful  reaches  of  river  which 
look  like  small  lakes.  The  lakes  have  floating  islands  com- 
posed of  vegetation.  Besides  the  immense  chunan  and 
elms,  and  the  long  lines  of  stately  poplars,  great  part  of  the 
plain  is  a  garden  filled  with  fruits  and  flowers,  and  there  is 
almost  constant  verdure. 

"  There  eternal  summer  dwells, 
And  west  winds,  with  musky  wing, 
About  the  cedar'd  alleys  fling 
Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells." 

Travel,  Adventure  and  Sport  from  Black-wood's  Magazine 
(Edinburgh  and  London),  Vol.  vi. 


THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

THIS  Pitch  Lake  should  be  counted  among  the  won- 
ders of  the  world ;  for  it  is,  certainly,  tolerably  big. 
It  covers  ninety-nine  acres,  and  contains  millions  of  tons 
of  so-called  pitch. 

Its  first  discoverers  were  not  bound  to  see  that  a  pitch 
lake  of  ninety-nine  acres  was  no  more  wonderful  than  any 
of  the  little  pitch  wells — "  spues  "  or  "galls,"  as  we  should 
call  them  in  Hampshire — a  yard  across ;  or  any  one  of  the 
tiny  veins  and  lumps  of  pitch  which  abound  in  the  sur- 
rounding forests  ;  and  no  less  wonderful  than  if  it  had  covered 
ninety-nine  thousand  acres  instead  of  ninety-nine. 

As  we  neared  the  shore,  we  perceived  that  the  beach  was 
black  with  pitch ;  and  the  breeze  being  off  the  land,  the 
asphalt  smell  (not  unpleasant)  came  off  to  welcome  us. 
We  rowed  in,  and  saw  in  front  of  a  little  row  of  wooden 
houses,  a  tall  mulatto,  in  blue  policeman's  dress,  gesticulat- 
ing and  shouting  to  us.  He  was  the  ward  policeman,  and 
I  found  him  (as  I  did  all  the  coloured  police)  able  and 
courteous,  shrewd  and  trusty.  These  police  are  excellent 
specimens  of  what  can  be  made  of  the  Negro,  or  Half- 
Negro,  if  he  be  but  first  drilled,  and  then  given  a  responsi- 
bility which  calls  out  his  self-respect.  He  was  warning  our 


THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH  221 

crew  not  to  run  aground  on  one  or  other  of  the  pitch  reefs, 
which  here  take  the  place  of  rocks.  A  large  one,  a 
hundred  yards  off  on  the  left,  has  been  almost  all  dug 
away,  and  carried  to  New  York  or  to  Paris  to  make  asphalt 
pavement. 

The  boat  was  run  ashore,  under  his  directions,  on  a  spit 
of  sand  between  the  pitch ;  and  when  she  ceased  bumping 
up  and  down  in  the  muddy  surf,  we  scrambled  out  into  a 
world  exactly  the  hue  of  its  inhabitants — of  every  shade, 
from  jet-black  to  copper-brown.  The  pebbles  on  the  shore 
were  pitch.  A  tide-pool  close  by  was  enclosed  in  pitch :  a 
four-eyes  was  swimming  about  in  it,  staring  up  at  us  ;  and 
when  we  hunted  him,  tried  to  escape,  not  by  diving,  but  by 
jumping  on  shore  on  the  pitch,  and  scrambling  off  between 
our  legs.  While  the  policeman,  after  profoundest  courte- 
sies, was  gone  to  get  a  mule-cart  to  take  us  up  to  the  lake, 
and  planks  to  bridge  its  water-channels,  we  took  a  look 
round  at  this  oddest  of  the  corners  of  the  earth. 

In  front  of  us  was  the  unit  of  civilization — the  police- 
station,  wooden  on  wooden  stilts  (as  all  well-built  houses 
are  here),  to  ensure  a  draught  of  air  beneath  them.  We 
were,  of  course,  asked  to  come  and  sit  down,  but  preferred 
looking  around,  under  our  umbrellas ;  for  the  heat  was  in- 
tense. The  soil  is  half  pitch,  half  brown  earth,  among 
which  the  pitch  sweals  in  and  out,  as  tallow  sweals  from  a 
candle.  It  is  always  in  slow  motion  under  the  heat  of  the 
tropic  sun :  and  no  wonder  if  some  of  the  cottages  have 
sunk  right  and  left  in  such  a  treacherous  foundation.  A 
stone  or  brick  house  could  not  stand  here :  but  wood  and 


222  THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH 

palm-thatch  are  both  light  and  tough  enough  to  be  safe,  let 
the  ground  give  way  as  it  will. 

The  soil,  however,  is  very  rich.  The  pitch  certainly 
does  not  injure  vegetation,  though  plants  will  not  grow  ac- 
tually in  it.  The  first  plants  which  caught  our  eyes  were 
pine-apples;  for  which  La  Brea  is  famous.  The  heat  of  the 
soil,  as  well  as  of  the  air,  brings  them  to  special  perfection. 
They  grow  about  anywhere,  unprotected  by  hedge  or  fence  ; 
for  the  Negroes  here  seem  honest  enough,  at  least  towards 
each  other.  And  at  the  corner  of  the  house  was  a  bush 
worth  looking  at,  for  we  had  heard  of  it  for  many  a  year. 
It  bore  prickly,  heart-shaped  pods  an  inch  long,  filled  with 
seeds  coated  with  a  rich  waxy  pulp. 

This  was  a  famous  plant — Bixa,  Orellana,  Roucou ;  and 
that  pulp  was  the  well-known  Arnotta  dye  of  commerce. 
In  England  and  Holland,  it  is  used  merely,  I  believe,  to 
colour  cheeses  ;  but  in  the  Spanish  Main,  to  colour  human 
beings.  As  we  went  onward  up  the  gentle  slope  (the  rise 
is  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  feet  in  rather  more  than  a 
mile),  the  ground  became  more  and  more  full  of  pitch,  and 
the  vegetation  poorer  and  more  rushy,  till  it  resembled  on 
the  whole,  that  of  an  English  fen.  An  Ipomoea  or  two,  and 
a  scarlet-flowered  dwarf  Heliconia  kept  up  the  tropic  type 
as  does  a  stiff  brittle  fern  about  two  feet  high. 

The  plateau  of  pitch  now  widened  out,  and  the  whole 
ground  looked  like  an  asphalt  pavement,  half  overgrown 
with  marsh-loving  weeds,  whose  roots  feed  in  the  sloppy 
water  which  overlies  the  pitch.  But,  as  yet,  there  was  no 
sign  of  the  lake.  The  incline,  though  gentle,  shuts  off  the 


THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH  223 

view  of  what  is  beyond.  This  last  lip  of  the  lake  has 
surely  overflowed,  and  is  overflowing  still,  though  very 
slowly.  Its  furrows  all  curve  downward;  and,  it  is,  in 
fact,  as  one  of  our  party  said,  "  a  black  glacier."  The 
pitch,  expanding  under  the  burning  sun  of  day,  must  needs 
expand  most  towards  the  line  of  least  resistance,  that  is, 
down  hill ;  and  when  it  contracts  again  under  the  coolness 
of  night,  it  contracts  surely  from  the  same  cause,  more 
downhill  than  it  does  uphill;  so  that  each  particle  never  re- 
turns to  the  spot  whence  it  started,  but  rather  drags  the 
particles  above  it  downward  towards  itself.  At  least,  so  it 
seemed  to  us. 

At  last  we  surmounted  the  last  rise,  and  before  us  lay  the 
famous  lake — not  at  the  bottom  of  a  depression,  as  we  ex- 
pected, but  at  the  top  of  a  rise,  whence  the  ground  slopes 
away  from  it  on  two  sides,  and  rises  from  it  very  slightly  on 
the  two  others.  The  black  pool  glared  and  glittered  in  the 
sun.  A  group  of  islands,  some  twenty  yards  wide,  were 
scattered  about  the  middle  of  it.  Beyond  it  rose  a  noble 
forest  of  Moriche  fan-palms ;  and  to  the  right  of  them  high 
wood  with  giant  Mombins  and  undergrowth  of  Cocorite — 
a  paradise  on  the  other  side  of  the  Stygian  pool. 

We  walked,  with  some  misgivings,  on  to  the  asphalt, 
and  found  it  perfectly  hard.  In  a  few  yards  we  were 
stopped  by  a  channel  of  clear  water,  with  tiny  fish  and 
water-beetles  in  it ;  and,  looking  round,  saw  that  the  whole 
lake  was  intersected  with  channels,  so  unlike  anything 
which  can  be  seen  elsewhere,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  describe 
them. 


224  THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH 

Conceive  a  crowd  of  mushrooms,  of  all  shapes  from  ten 
to  fifty  feet  across,  close  together  side  by  side,  their  tops 
being  kept  at  exactly  the  same  level,  their  rounded  rims 
squeezed  tight  against  each  other;  then  conceive  water 
poured  on  them  so  as  to  fill  the  parting  seams,  and  in  the 
wet  season,  during  which  we  visited  it,  to  overflow  the 
tops  somewhat.  Thus  would  each  mushroom  represent, 
tolerably  well,  one  of  the  innumerable  flat  asphalt  bosses, 
which  seem  to  have  sprung  up  each  from  a  separate  centre. 

In  five  minutes  we  had  seen,  handled,  and  smelt  enough 
to  satisfy  us  with  this  very  odd  and  very  nasty  vagary  of 
tropic  nature ;  and  as  we  did  not  wish  to  become  faint  or 
ill,  between  the  sulphuretted  hydrogen  and  the  blaze  of  the 
sun  reflected  off"  the  hot  black  pitch,  we  hurried  on  over  the 
water-furrows,  and  through  the  sedge-beds  to  the  further 
shore — to  find  ourselves  in  a  single  step  out  of  an  Inferno 
into  a  Paradise. 

We  looked  back  at  the  foul  place,  and  agreed  that  it  is 
well  for  the  human  mind  that  the  Pitch  Lake  was  still  un- 
known when  Dante  wrote  that  hideous  poem  of  his — the 
opprobrium  (as  I  hold)  of  the  Middle  Age.  For  if  such 
were  the  dreams  of  its  noblest  and  purest  genius,  what  must 
have  been  the  dreams  of  the  ignoble  and  impure  multitude  ? 
But  had  he  seen  this  lake,  how  easy,  how  tempting  too,  it 
would  have  been  to  him  to  embody  in  imagery  the  surmise 
of  a  certain  "Father,"  and  heighten  the  torments  of  the 
lost  being,  sinking  slowly  into  that  black  Bolge  beneath  the 
baking  rays  of  the  tropic  sun,  by  the  sight  of  the  saved, 
walking  where  we  walked,  beneath  cool  fragrant  shade, 


THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH  225 

among  the  pillars  of  a  temple  to  which  the  Parthenon  is 
mean  and  small. 

Sixty  feet  and  more  aloft,  the  short,  smooth  columns  of 
the  Moriches  towered  around  us,  till,  as  we  looked  through 
the  "  pillared  shade,"  the  eye  was  lost  in  the  green  abysses 
of  the  forest.  Overhead,  their  great  fan-leaves  form  a 
grooved  roof,  compared  with  which  that  of  St.  Mary  Rad- 
cliff,  or  even  of  King's  College,  is  as  clumsy  as  all  man's 
works  are  beside  the  works  of  God ;  and  beyond  the 
Moriche  wood,  ostrich  plumes  packed  close  round  madder- 
brown  stems,  formed  a  wall  to  our  temple,  which  bore  such 
traqery,  carving,  and  painting,  as  would  have  stricken  dumb 
with  awe  and  delight  him  who  ornamented  the  Loggie  of 
the  Vatican. 

What  might  not  have  been  made,  with  something  of 
justice  and  mercy,  common  sense  and  humanity,  of  these 
gentle  Arawaks  and  Guaraons.  What  was  made  of  them, 
almost  ere  Columbus  was  dead,  may  be  judged  from  this 
one  story,  taken  from  Las  Casas. 

"  There  was  a  certain  man  named  Juan  Bono,  who  was 
employed  by  the  members  of  the  Andencia  of  St.  Domingo 
to  go  and  obtain  Indians.  He  and  his  men  to  the  number 
of  fifty  or  sixty,  landed  on  the  Island  of  Trinidad.  Now 
the  Indians  of  Trinidad  were  a  mild,  loving,  credulous  race, 
the  enemies  of  the  Caribs,  who  ate  human  flesh.  On  Juan 
Bono's  landing,  the  Indians  armed  with  bows  and  arrows, 
went  to  meet  the  Spaniards,  and  to  ask  them  who  they  were, 
and  what  they  wanted.  Juan  Bono  replied  that  his  men 
were  good  and  peaceful  people,  who  had  come  to  live  with 


226  THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH 

the  Indians  ;  upon  which,  as  the  commencement  of  good 
fellowship,  the  natives  offered  to  build  houses  for  the 
Spaniards.  The  Spanish  captain  expressed  a  wish  to  have 
one  large  house  built.  The  accommodating  Indians  set 
about  building  it.  It  was  to  be  in  the  form  of  a  bell  and  to 
be  large  enough  for  a  hundred  persons  to  live  in.  On  any 
great  occasion  it  would  hold  many  more.  .  .  .  Upon 
a  certain  day  Juan  Bono  collected  the  Indians  together — 
men,  women,  and  children — in  the  building  l  to  see,'  as  he 
told  them,  '  what  was  to  be  done.'  ...  A  horrible 
massacre  ensued.  .  .  ." 

Such  was  the  fate  of  the  poor  gentle  folk  who  for  un- 
known ages  had  swung  their  hammocks  to  the  stems  of 
these  Moriches,  spinning  the  skin  of  the  young  leaves  into 
twine,  and  making  sago  from  the  pith,  and  then  wine  from 
the  sap  and  fruit,  while  they  warned  their  children  not  to 
touch  the  nests  of  the  humming-birds,  which  even  till  lately 
swarmed  around  the  lake.  For — so  the  Indian  story  ran — 
once  on  a  time  a  tribe  of  Chaymas  built  their  palm-leaf 
ajoupas  upon  the  very  spot,  where  the  lake  now  lies,  and 
lived  a  merry  life.  The  sea  swarmed  with  shell-fish  and 
turtle,  and  the  land  with  pine-apples;  the  springs  were 
haunted  by  countless  flocks  of  flamingoes  and  horned 
screamers,  pajuis  and  blue  ramiers ;  and,  above  all,  by 
humming-birds.  But  the  foolish  Chaymas  were  blind  to 
the  mystery  and  beauty  of  the  humming-birds,  and  would 
not  understand  how  they  were  no  other  than  the  souls  of 
dead  Indians,  translated  into  living  jewels ;  and  so  they 
killed  them  in  wantonness,  and  angered  "  The  Good 


THE  LAKE  OF  PITCH  227 

Spirit."  But  one  morning,  when  the  Guaraons  came  by, 
the  Chayma  village  had  sunk  deep  into  the  earth,  and  in  its 
place  had  risen  this  Lake  of  Pitch.  So  runs  the  tale,  told 
forty  years  since  to  Mr.  Joseph,  author  of  a  clever  little 
history  of  Trinidad,  by  an  old  half-caste  Indian,  Senor 
Trinidada  by  name,  who  was  said  then  to  be  nigh  one  hun- 
dred years  of  age.  Surely  the  people  among  whom  such  a 
myth  could  spring  up,  were  worthy  of  a  nobler  fate. 
At  Last  (London  and  New  York,  1871). 


THE  LACHINE  RAPIDS 
DOUGLAS  SLADEN 

FROM  St.  Anne's  to  Lachine  is  not  such  a  very  far 
cry,  and  it  was  at  Lachine  that  the  great  La  Salle 
had  his  first  seigniory.  This  Norman  founder  of  Illinois, 
who  reared  on  the  precipices  of  Fort  St.  Louis  the  white 
flag  and  his  great  white  cross  nearly  a  couple  of  centuries 
before  the  beginnings  of  the  Metropolis  of  the  West,  made 
his  beginnings  at  his  little  seigniory  round  Fort  Remy,  on 
the  Island  of  Montreal. 

The  son  of  a  wealthy  and  powerful  burgher  of  Rouen,  he 
had  been  brought  up  to  become  a  Jesuit.  La  Salle  was 
well  fitted  for  an  ecclesiastic,  a  prince  of  the  Church,  a 
Richelieu,  but  not  for  a  Jesuit,  whose  effacement  of  self  is 
the  keystone  of  the  order.  To  be  one  step,  one  stone  in 
the  mighty  pyramid  of  the  Order  of  Jesus  was  not  for  him, 
a  man  of  mighty  individuality  like  Columbus  or  Cromwell, 
and  accordingly  his  piety,  asceticism,  vast  ambition,  and 
superhuman  courage  were  lost  to  the  Church  and  gained  to 
the  State.  So  says  Parkman. 

His  seigniory  and  fort — probably  the  Fort  Remy  of 
which  a  contemporary  plan  has  come  down  to  us — were 
just  where  the  St.  Lawrence  begins  to  widen  into  Lake  St. 
Louis,  abreast  of  the  famous  Rapids  of  Lachine,  shot  by  so 


1  • .     « 

'         I/' 

!'»  '  v,    ••••'••  4  IT 

/    -4 

1  • 


THE  LACHINE  RAPIDS  2 29 

many  tourists  with  blanched  cheeks  every  summer.  I  say 
tourists,  for,  as  I  have  said  before,  there  is  nothing  your 
true  Canadian  loves  so  much  as  the  off-chance  of  being 
drowned  in  a  cataract  or  "  splifficated  "  on  a  toboggan  slide. 
It  is  part  of  the  national  education,  like  the  Bora  Bora,  or 
teeth-drawing,  of  the  Australian  aborigines.  The  very 
name  Lachine  breathes  a  memory  of  La  Salle,  for  it  was  so 
christened  in  scorn  by  his  detractors — the  way  by  which  La 
Salle  thinks  he  is  going  to  get  to  China.  A  palisade  con- 
taining, at  any  rate,  the  house  of  La  Salle,  a  stone  mill  still 
standing,  and  a  stone  barrack  and  ammunition  house,  now 
falling  into  most  picturesque  and  pitfallish  decay — such  is 
Fort  Remy,  founded  nearly  two  centuries  and  a  quarter 
ago,  when  England  was  just  beginning  to  feel  the  invigorat- 
ing effects  of  a  return  to  the  blessings  of  Stuart  rule.  This 
was  in  1667,  but  La  Salle  was  not  destined  to  remain  here 
long.  In  two  years'  time  he  had  learned  seven  or  eight 
Indian  languages,  and  felt  himself  ready  for  the  ambition 
of  his  life  :  to  find  his  way  to  the  Vermilion  Sea — the  Gulf 
of  California — for  a  short  cut  to  the  wealth  of  China  and 
Japan, — an  ambition  which  resolved  itself  into  founding  a 
province  or  Colonial  Empire  for  France  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Mississippi,  when  he  discovered  later  on  that  the  Mis- 
sissippi flowed  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  not  into  the 
Gulf  of  California. 

We  cannot  follow  him  in  his  long  connection  with  the 
Illinois  Indians  and  Fort  St.  Louis.  We  must  leave  him 
gazing  from  the  walls  of  his  seigniory  across  the  broad 
bosom  of  Lake  St.  Louis  at  the  forests  of  Beauharnais  and 


230  THE  LACHINE  RAPIDS 

Chateauguay  (destined  afterwards  to  be  Canada's  Ther- 
mopylae) and  the  sunset,  behind  which  must  be  a  new  pas- 
sage to  the  South  Seas  and  the  treasures  of  Cathay  and 
Cipango — the  dream  which  had  fired  the  brain  of  every 
discoverer  from  Columbus  and  Vasco  Nunez  downwards. 

Nowadays  Lachine  suggests  principally  the  canal  by 
which  the  rapids  are  avoided,  the  rapids  themselves,  and  the 
superb  Canadian  Pacific  Railway  Bridge,  which  is  a  link  in 
the  realization  of  La  Salle's  vast  idea.  Hard  by,  too,  the 
St.  Lawrence  opens  out  into  the  expanse  of  Lake  St.  Louis, 
dear  to  Montreallers  in  the  glowing  Canadian  summer. 
Seen  from  the  bank,  the  rapids  are  most  disappointing  to 
people  who  expect  them  to  look  like  Niagara.  Seen  from 
the  deck  of  the  steamer  which  runs  in  connection  with  the 
morning  and  evening  train  from  Montreal,  they  make  the 
blood  of  the  novice  creep,  though  the  safety  of  the  trip  is 
evinced  by  the  fact  that  it  is  no  longer  considered  necessary 
to  take  a  pilot  from  the  neighbouring  Indian  village  of 
Caughnawaga.  It  is  said  that,  if  the  steamer  is  abandoned 
to  the  current,  it  is  impossible  for  her  to  strike,  the  scour 
being  so  strong ;  certainly,  her  engines  are  slowed  ;  she 
reels  about  like  a  drunken  man ;  right  and  left  you  see 
fierce  green  breakers  with  hissing  white  fillets  threatening 
to  swamp  you  at  every  minute.  Every  second  thud  of 
these  waves  upon  the  sides  convinces  you  that  the  ship  is 
aground  and  about  to  be  dashed  to  pieces.  There  seems 
absolutely  no  chance  of  getting  safely  out  of  the  boiling 
waters,  which  often  rush  together  like  a  couple  of  foun- 
tains. Yet,  after  a  few  trips,  you  know  that  the  Captain 


THE  LACHINE  RAPIDS  231 

is  quite  justified  in  sitting  in  his  easy  chair  and  smoking  a 
cigarette  all  through  it.  It  is  admirably  described  in  brief 
by  Dawson  :  "  As  the  steamer  enters  the  long  and  turbu- 
lent rapids  of  the  Sault  St.  Louis,  the  river  is  contracted 
and  obstructed  by  islands;  and  trap  dykes,  crossing  the 
softer  limestone  rocks,  make,  by  their  uneven  wear,  a  very 
broken  bottom.  The  fall  of  the  river  is  also  considerable, 
and  the  channel  tortuous,  all  which  circumstances  com- 
bined cause  this  rapid  to  be  more  feared  than  any  of  the 
others. 

"  As  the  steamer  enters  the  rapids  the  engines  are  slowed, 
retaining  a  sufficient  speed  to  give  steerage  way,  and,  rush- 
ing along  with  the  added  speed  of  the  swift  current,  the 
boat  soon  begins  to  labour  among  the  breakers  and  eddies. 
The  passengers  grow  excited  at  the  apparently  narrow  es- 
capes, as  the  steamer  seems  almost  to  touch  rock  after  rock, 
and  dips  her  prow  into  the  eddies,  while  the  turbulent  wa- 
ters throw  their  spray  over  the  deck." 

On  the  Cars  and  Off  (London,  New  York  and  Mel" 
bourne,  1895). 


LAKE  ROTORUA 

H.   R.    HAWEIS 

THE  thermae,  or  hot  baths,  of  the  near  future  are  with- 
out doubt  the  marvellous  volcanic  springs  of  Ro- 
torua  and  the  Lake  Taupo  district,  in  the  North  Island. 
They  can  now  be  reached  from  London,  via  Francisco,  in 
thirty-three  days.  They  concentrate  in  a  small  area  all  the 
varied  qualities  of  the  European  springs,  and  other  curative 
properties  of  an  extraordinary  character,  which  are  not  pos- 
sessed in  the  same  degree  by  any  other  known  waters.  Be- 
fore Mr.  Froude's  Oceana,  and  the  subsequent  destruction 
of  the  famous  pink  terraces,  little  attention  had  been  called 
to  one  of  the  most  romantic  and  amazing  spectacles  in  the 
world.  The  old  terraces  are  indeed  gone.  The  idyllic 
villages,  the  blossoming  slopes  are  a  waste  of  volcanic  ashes 
and  scoriae  through  which  the  dauntless  vegetation  is  only 
now  beginning  to  struggle.  The  blue  waters  are  displaced 
and  muddy,  but  the  disaster  of  one  shock  could  not  rob  the 
land  of  its  extraordinary  mystery  and  beauty.  For  a  dis- 
tance of  three  hundred  miles,  south  of  Lake  Taupo  and 
running  north,  a  volcanic  crust,  sometimes  thin  enough  to 
be  trodden  through,  separates  the  foot  from  a  seething  mass 
of  sulphur,  gas,  and  boiling  water,  which  around  Rotorua 
and  Waikari  finds  strange  and  ample  vents,  in  hot  streams, 
clouds  of  vapour,  warm  lakes,  geysers,  occasionally  devel- 


LAKE  ROTORUA  233 

oping  into  appalling  volcanic  outbursts,  which  certainly  in- 
vest this  region  with  a  weird  terror,  but  also  with  an  incon- 
ceivable charm,  as  white  vapour  breaks  amidst  flowering 
bushes,  in  the  midst  of  true  valleys  of  paradise ;  the  streams 
ripple  hot  and  crystalline  over  parti-coloured  rocks  or 
through  emerald-hued  mossy  dells ;  the  warm  lakes  sleep 
embedded  in  soft,  weedy  banks,  reflecting  huge  boulders, 
half  clothed  in  tropical  foliage ;  coral-like  deposits  here  and 
there  of  various  tints  reproduce  the  famous  terraces  in 
miniature  ;  and  geysers,  in  odd  moments,  spout  huge  vol- 
umes of  boiling  water  with  an  unearthly  roar  eighty  feet 
into  the  air.  At  Waikari,  near  Lake  Taupo,  specimens  of 
all  these  wonders  are  concentrated  in  a  few  square  miles — 
the  bubbling  white  mud  pools,  like  foaming  plaster  of 
Paris,  the  petrifying  springs,  into  which  a  boy  fell  some 
time  ago,  and  getting  a  good  silicate  coat  over  him  was 
taken  out  months  afterwards  "  as  good  as  ever,"  so  my 
guide  explained. 

"  What,"  I  said,  "  did  he  not  feel  even  a  little  poorly  ?  " 
"  What's  that  ?  "  said  the  guide,  and  the  joke  dawning 
on  him  burst  into  a  tardy  roar. 

And  time  would  fail  me  to  tell  of  the  dragon's  mouth, 
and  open  rock  vomiting  sulphur  and  steam ;  the  lightning 
pool,  in  whose  depths  for  ever  flash  queer  opaline  suba- 
queous flashes ;  the  champagne  pool,  the  Prince  of  Wales's 
Feathers,  a  geyser  which  can  be  made  to  play  half  an  hour 
after  a  few  clods  of  mud  have  blocked  up  a  little  hot 
stream;  the  steam  hammer,  the  fairy  bath,  the  donkey  en- 
gine, etc. 


234  LAKE  ROTORUA 

At  Rotorua  we  bought  blocks  of  soap  and  threw  them  in 
to  make  a  certain  big  geyser  spout.  The  Maoris  have  still 
the  monopoly  there;  you  pay  toll,  cross  a  rickety  bridge 
with  a  Maori  girl  as  guide,  and  then  visit  the  pools,  ter- 
races, and  boiling  fountains.  They  are  not  nearly  so  pic- 
turesque as  at  Waikari,  which  is  a  wilderness  of  blossoming 
glens,  streams,  and  wooded  vales.  But  you  see  the  Maori 
in  his  native  village. 

The  volcanic  crust  is  warm  to  the  feet ;  the  Maori  huts 
of  "  toitoi "  reeds  and  boards  are  all  about ;  outside  are 
warm  pools ;  naked  boys  and  girls  are  swimming  in  them ; 
as  we  approach  they  emerge  half  out  of  the  water;  we 
throw  them  threepenny  bits.  The  girls  seem  most  eager 
and  dive  best — one  cunning  little  girl  about  twelve  or 
thirteen,  I  believe,  caught  her  coin  each  time  under  water 
long  before  it  sank,  but  throwing  up  her  legs  half  out  of 
water  dived  deep,  pretending  to  fetch  it  up  from  the  bot- 
tom. Sometimes  there  was  a  scramble  under  water  for  the 
coin  ;  the  girls  generally  got  it ;  the  boys  seemed  half  lazy. 
We  passed  on. 

"  Here  is  the  brain  pot,"  said  our  Maori  belle ;  a  hol- 
lowed stone.  It  was  heated  naturally — the  brains  cooked 
very  well  there  in  the  old  days — not  very  old  days  either. 

"  Here  is  the  bread  oven."  She  drew  off  the  cloth,  and 
sure  enough  in  a  hole  in  the  hot  ground  there  were  three 
new  loaves  getting  nicely  browned.  "  Here  are  potatoes," 
and  she  pointed  to  a  little  boiling  pool,  and  the  potatoes 
were  nearly  done;  and  "here  is  meat," — a  tin  let  into  the 
earth,  that  was  all,  contained  a  joint  baking  ;  and  farther  on 


LAKE  ROTORUA  235 

was  a  very  good  stew — at  least,  it  being  one  o'clock,  it 
smelt  well  enough.  And  so  there  is  no  fuel  and  no  fire 
wanted  in  this  and  dozens  of  other  Maori  pahs  or  hamlets. 
In  the  cold  nights  the  Maoris  come  out  of  their  tents 
naked,  and  sit  or  even  sleep  in  the  hot  shallow  lakelets  and 
pools  hard  by.  Anything  more  uncanny  than  this  walk 
through  the  Rotorua  Geyser  village  can  hardly  be  con- 
ceived. The  best  springs  are  rented  from  the  Maoris  by 
the  Government,  or  local  hotel-keepers.  These  are  now 
increasingly  fashionable  bathing  resorts.  The  finest  bath 
specific  for  rheumatism  is  the  Rachel  bath,  investing 
the  body  with  a  soft,  satiny  texture,  and  a  pearly 
complexion ;  the  iron,  sulphur,  and  especially  the  oil 
bath,  from  which  when  you  emerge  you  have  but  to 
shake  yourself  dry.  But  the  Priest's  bath,  so  called  from 
the  discoverer,  Father  Mahoney — who  cured  himself  of  ob- 
stinate rheumatism — is  perhaps  of  all  the  most  miraculous 
in  its  effects,  and  there  are  no  two  opinions  about  it.  Here 
take  place  the  most  incredible  cures  of  sciatica,  gout,  lum- 
bago, and  all  sorts  of  rheumatic  affections.  It  is  simply  a 
question  of  fact. 

The  Countess  of  Glasgow  herself  told  me  about  the  cure 
of  a  certain  colonel  relative  or  aide-de-camp  of  the  Gover- 
nor, the  Earl  of  Glasgow.  The  Colonel  had  for  years 
been  a  perfect  martyr  to  rheumatism  and  gout.  He  went 
to  Rotorua  with  his  swollen  legs  and  feet,  and  came  away 
wearing  tight  boots,  and  "  as  good  as  ever,"  as  my  guide 
would  have  said.  But  indeed  I  heard  of  scores  of  similar 
cases.  Let  all  victims  who  can  afford  it  lay  it  well  to 


236  LAKE  ROTORUA 

heart.  A  pleasure  trip,  of  only  thirty-two  days,  changing 
saloon  rail  carnage  but  three  times,  and  steamer  cabins  but 
twice,  will  insure  them  an  almost  infallible  cure,  even  when 
chronically  diseased  and  no  longer  young.  This  is  no 
"jeujah"  affair.  I  have  seen  and  spoken  to  the  fortunate 
beneficiares — you  meet  them  all  over  New  Zealand.  Of 
course,  the  fame  of  the  baths  is  spreading :  the  region  is 
only  just  made  accessible  by  the  opening  of  the  railway 
from  Auckland  to  Rotorua — a  ten  hours'  run.  The  Wai- 
kari  and  Taupo  baths  are  very  similar,  and  the  situation  is 
infinitely  more  romantic,  but  the  Government,  on  account 
of  the  railway,  are  pushing  the  Rotorua  baths. 

I  stole  out  about  half-past  ten  at  night ;  it  was  clear  and 
frosty.  I  made  my  way  to  a  warm  lake  at  the  bottom  of 
the  hotel  grounds,  a  little  shed  and  a  tallow  candle  being 
the  only  accommodation  provided.  Anything  more  weird 
than  that  starlight  bath  I  never  experienced.  I  stepped  in 
the  deep  night  from  the  frosty  bank  into  a  temperature  of 
about  80°. 

It  was  a  large  shallow  lake.  I  peered  into  the  dark,  but 
I  could  not  see  its  extent  by  the  dim  starlight ;  no,  not 
even  the  opposite  banks.  I  swam  about  until  I  came  to 
the  margin — a  mossy,  soft  margin.  Dark  branches  of 
trees  dipped  in  the  water,  and  I  could  feel  the  fallen  leaves 
floating  about.  I  followed  the  margin  round  till  the  light 
in  my  wood  cabin  dwindled  to  a  mere  spark  in  the  distance, 
then  I  swam  out  into  the  middle  of  the  lake.  When  I  was 
upright  the  warm  water  reached  my  chin ;  beneath  my  feet 
seemed  to  be  fine  sand  and  gravel.  Then  leaning  my  head 


LAKE  ROTORUA  237 

back  I  looked  up  at  the  Milky  Way,  and  all  the  expanse  of 
the  starlit  heavens.  There  was  not  a  sound  ;  the  great  suns 
and  planets  hung  like  golden  balls  above  me  in  the  clear 
air.  The  star  dust  of  planetary  systems — whole  universes 
— stretched  away  bewilderingly  into  the  unutterable  void 
of  boundless  immensity,  mapping  out  here  and  there  the 
trackless  thoroughfares  of  God  in  the  midnight  skies. 
"  Dont  la  poussiere"  as  Lamartine  finely  writes  in  oft- 
plagiarised  words,  "  sont  les  Etoiles  qui  remontent  et  tombent 
devant  Lui." 

How  long  I  remained  there  absorbed  in  this  super- 
mundane contemplation  I  cannot  say.  I  felt  myself  em- 
braced simultaneously  by  three  elements — the  warm  water, 
the  darkness,  and  the  starlit  air.  They  wove  a  threefold 
spell  about  my  senses,  whilst  my  intellect  seemed  detached, 
free.  Emancipated  from  earthly  trammels,  I  seemed 
mounting  up  and  up  towards  the  stars.  Suddenly  I  found 
myself  growing  faint,  luxuriously  faint.  My  head  sank 
back,  my  eyes  closed,  there  was  a  humming  as  of  some 
distant  waterfall  in  my  ears.  I  seemed  falling  asleep, 
pillowed  on  the  warm  water,  but  common  sense  rescued 
me  just  in  time.  I  was  alone  in  an  unknown  hot  lake  in 
New  Zealand  at  night,  out  of  reach  of  human  call.  I 
roused  myself  with  a  great  effort  of  will.  I  had  only  just 
time  to  make  for  the  bank  when  I  grew  quite  dizzy.  The 
keen  frosty  air  brought  me  unpleasantly  to  my  senses. 
My  tallow  dip  was  guttering  in  its  socket,  and  hastily  re- 
suming my  garments,  in  a  somewhat  shivering  condition,  I 
retraced  the  rocky  path,  then  groped  my  way  over  the  little 


238  LAKE  ROTORUA 

bridge  under  which  rushed  the  hot  stream  that  fed  the 
lakelet,  and  guided  only  by  the  dim  starlight  I  regained  my 
hotel. 

I  had  often  looked  up  at  the  midnight  skies  before — at 
Charles's  Wain  and  the  Pleiades  on  the  Atlantic,  at  the 
Southern  Cross  on  the  Pacific,  and  the  resplendent  Milky 
Way  in  the  Tropics,  at  Mars  and  his  so-called  canals,  at 
"  the  opal  widths  of  the  moon "  from  the  snowy  top  of 
Mount  Cenis,  but  never,  no,  never  had  I  studied  as- 
tronomy under  such  extraordinary  circumstances  and  with 
such  peculiar  and  enchanted  environments  as  on  this  night 
at  the  Waikari  hot  springs. 

Travel  and  Talk  (London  and  New  York,  1896). 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA 

C.  F.  GORDON-GUMMING 

AT  last  we  entered  the  true  forest-belt,  and  anything 
more  beautiful  you  cannot  conceive.  We  forgot 
our  bumps  and  bruises  in  sheer  delight.  Oh  the  loveliness 
of  those  pines  and  cedars,  living  or  dead !  For  the  dead 
trees  are  draped  with  the  most  exquisite  golden-green 
lichen,  which  hangs  in  festoons  many  yards  in  length,  and 
is  unlike  any  other  moss  or  lichen  I  ever  saw.  I  can  com- 
pare it  to  nothing  but  gleams  of  sunshine  in  the  dark 
forest.  Then,  too,  how  beautiful  are  the  long  arcades  of 
stately  columns,  red,  yellow,  or  brown,  200  feet  in  height, 
and  straight  as  an  arrow,  losing  themselves  in  their  own 
crown  of  misty  green  foliage ;  and  some  standing  solitary, 
dead  and  sunbleached,  telling  of  careless  fires,  which  burnt 
away  their  hearts,  but  could  not  make  them  fall ! 

There  are  so  many  different  pines  and  firs,  and  cedars, 
that  as  yet  I  can  scarcely  tell  one  from  another.  The 
whole  air  is  scented  with  the  breath  of  the  forests — the 
aromatic  fragrance  of  resin  and  of  dried  cones  and  pine- 
needles  baked  by  the  hot  sun  (how  it  reminds  me  of 
Scotch  firs ! ) ;  and  the  atmosphere  is  clear  and  crystalline 
— a  medium  which  softens  nothing,  and  reveals  the  farthest 
distance  in  sharpest  detail.  Here  and  there  we  crossed 
deep  gulches,  where  streams  (swollen  to  torrents  by  the 


240  THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA 

melting  snow  on  the  upper  hills)  rushed  down  over  great 
boulders  and  prostrate  trees  and  the  victims  of  the  winter 
gales. 

Then  we  came  to  quiet  glades  in  the  forest,  where  the 
soft  lawn-like  turf  was  all  jewelled  with  flowers  ;  and  the 
sunlight  trickled  through  the  dripping  boughs  of  the 
feathery  Douglas  pines,  and  the  jolly  little  chip-munks 
played  hide-and-seek  among  the  great  cedars,  and  chased 
one  another  to  the  very  tops  of  the  tall  pitch-pines,  which 
stand  like  clusters  of  dark  spires,  more  than  200  feet  in 
height.  It  was  altogether  lovely  ;  but  I  think  no  one  was 
sorry  when  we  reached  a  turn  in  the  road,  where  we  de- 
scended from  the  high  forest-belt,  and  crossing  a  picturesque 
stream — "  Big  Creek  " — by  name — we  found  ourselves  in 
this  comfortable  ranch,  which  takes  its  name  from  one  of 
the  pioneers  of  the  valley. 

We  have  spent  a  long  day  of  delight  in  the  most  mag- 
nificent forest  that  it  is  possible  to  imagine;  and  I  have 
realized  an  altogether  new  sensation,  for  I  have  seen  the 
Big  Trees  of  California,  and  have  walked  round  about 
them,  and  inside  their  cavernous  hollows,  and  have  done 
homage  as  beseems  a  most  reverent  tree-worshipper.  They 
are  wonderful — they  are  stupendous  !  But  as  to  beauty — 
no.  They  shall  never  tempt  me  to  swerve  from  my 
allegiance  to  my  true  tree-love — the  glorious  Deodara  forest 
of  the  Himalayas. 

If  size  alone  were  to  be  considered,  undoubtedly  the 
Sequoia  stands  preeminent,  for-to-day  we  have  seen  several 
trees  at  least  three  times  as  large  as  the  biggest  Deodara  in 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA  241 

the  cedar  shades  of  Kunai  •,  but  for  symmetry,  and  grace, 
and  exquisitely  harmonious  lines,  the  "  God-given  "  cedar 
of  Himala  stands  alone,  with  its  wide  spreading,  twisted 
arms,  and  velvety  layers  of  foliage  studded  with  pale-green 
cones, — its  great  red  stem  supporting  a  pyramid  of  green, 
far  more  majestic  than  the  diminutive  crown  of  the  Big 
Trees.  So  at  first  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  the  California 
cedars  are  altogether  justified  in  concentrating  all  their 
growing  power  in  one  steady  upward  direction,  so  intent  on 
reaching  heaven  that  they  could  not  afford  to  throw  out 
one  kindly  bough  to  right  or  left.  They  remind  me  of 
certain  rigidly  good  Pharisees,  devoid  of  all  loving  sym- 
pathies with  their  fellows,  with  no  outstretched  arms  of 
kindly  charity — only  intent  on  regulating  their  own  lives 
by  strictest  unvarying  rule. 

Great  Towers  of  Babel  they  seem  to  me,  straining  up- 
ward towards  the  heaven  which  they  will  never  reach. 

There  is  nothing  lovable  about  a  Sequoia.  It  is  so 
gigantic  that  I  feel  overawed  by  it,  but  all  the  time  I  am 
conscious  that  I  am  comparing  it  with  the  odd  Dutch  trees 
in  a  Noah's  Ark,  with  a  small  tuft  of  foliage  on  the  top  of 
a  large  red  stem,  all  out  of  proportion.  And  another  un- 
pleasant simile  forces  itself  on  my  mind — namely,  a  tall 
penguin,  or  one  of  the  wingless  birds  of  New  Zealand,  with 
feeble  little  flaps  in  place  of  wings,  altogether  dispropor- 
tioned  to  their  bodies. 

But  this  is  merely  an  aside — lest  you  should  suppose  that 
each  new  land  I  visit  wins  my  affections  from  earlier  loves. 
The  Deodara  forests  must  ever  keep  their  place  in  my  in- 


242  THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA 

nermost  heart :  no  sunlight  can  ever  be  so  lovely  as  that 
which  plays  among  their  boughs — no  sky  so  blue — no  ice- 
peaks  so  glittering  as  those  which  there  cleave  the  heaven ; 
and  I  am  sure  that  these  poor  wretched-looking  Digger 
Indians  can  never  have  the  same  interest  for  me  as  the 
wild  Himalayan  highlanders — the  Paharis — who  assemble 
at  the  little  temples  of  carved  cedar-wood  in  the  Great 
Forest  Sanctuary,  to  offer  their  strange  sacrifices,  and  dance 
in  mystic  sunwise  procession. 

Having  said  this  much,  I  may  now  sing  the  praises  of  a 
newly  found  delight,  for  in  truth  these  forests  of  the 
Sierras  have  a  charm  of  their  own,  which  cannot  be  sur- 
passed, in  the  amazing  variety  of  beautiful  pines,  firs,  and 
cedars  of  which  they  are  composed.  The  white  fir,  the 
Douglas  spruce,  sugar-pine,  and  pitch-pine  are  the  most 
abundant,  and  are  scattered  singly  or  in  singularly  pictur- 
esque groups  over  all  the  mountains  hereabouts. 

But  the  Big  Trees  are  only  found  in  certain  favoured  spots 
— sheltered  places  watered  by  snow-fed  streams,  at  an  average 
of  from  5,000  to  7,000  feet  above  the  sea.  Eight  distinct 
groves  have  been  discovered,  all  growing  in  rich,  deep, 
vegetable  mould,  on  a  foundation  of  powdered  granite. 
Broad  gaps  lie  between  the  principal  groves,  and  it  is  ob- 
served that  these  invariably  lie  in  the  track  of  the  great  ice- 
rivers,  where  the  accumulation  of  powdered  rock  and  gravel 
formed  the  earliest  commencement  of  the  soil,  which  by 
slow  degrees  became  rich,  and  deep,  and  fertile.  There  is 
even  reason  to  believe  that  these  groves  are  pre-Adamite. 
A  very  average  tree  (only  twenty -three  feet  in  diameter) 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA  243 

having  been  felled,  its  annual  rings  were  counted  by  three 
different  persons,  whose  calculations  varied  from  2,125  to 
2,137;  and  this  tree  was  by  no  means  very  aged-looking — 
probably  not  half  the  age  of  some  of  its  big  relations,  one 
of  which  (on  King's  river)  is  forty-four  feet  in  diameter. 

Then,  again,  some  of  the  largest  of  these  trees  are  lying 
prostrate  on  the  ground  ;  and  in  the  ditches  formed  by  their 
crash,  trees  have  grown  up  of  such  a  size,  and  in  such  a 
position,  as  to  prove  that  the  fallen  giants  have  lain  there 
for  centuries — a  thousand  years  or  more;  and  although 
partially  embedded  in  the  earth,  and  surrounded  by  damp 
forest,  their  almost  imperishable  timber  is  as  sound  as  if 
newly  felled.  So  it  appears  that  a  Sequoia  may  lie  on 
damp  earth  for  untold  ages  without  showing  any  symptom 
of  decay.  Yet  in  the  southern  groves  huge  prostrate  trees 
are  found  quite  rotten,  apparently  proving  that  they  must 
have  lain  there  for  an  incalculable  period. 

Of  the  eight  groves  aforesaid,  the  most  northerly  is 
Calaveras,  and  the  most  southerly  is  on  the  south  fork  of 
the  Tule  river.  The  others  are  the  Stanislaus,  the  Merced 
and  Crane  Flat,  the  Mariposa,  the  Fresno,  the  King's  and 
Kaweah  rivers,  and  the  north  fork  of  the  Tule  river.  It  is 
worthy  of  note  that  the  more  northerly  groves  are  found  at 
the  lowest  level,  Calaveras  being  only  4,759  feet  above  the 
sea,  while  the  Tule  and  Kaweah  belts  range  over  the 
Sierras  at  about  7,000  feet. 

The  number  of  Sequoias  in  the  northern  groves  is 
reckoned  to  be  as  follows  :  Calaveras,  ninety  trees  upwards 
of  fifteen  feet  in  diameter;  Stanislaus,  or  South  Calaveras 


244  THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA 

grove,  distant  six  miles  from  North  Calaveras,  contains 
1,380  trees  over  one  foot  in  diameter  (many  of  them  being 
over  thirty  feet  in  diameter).  Mariposa  has  its  600 
Sequoias ;  and  the  beautiful  Fresno  grove,  some  miles  from 
Mariposa,  has  1,200.  Merced  has  fifty,  and  Tuolumne 
thirty.  The  southern  belts  have  not  yet  been  fully  ex- 
plored, but  are  apparently  the  most  extensive. 

The  Mariposa  grove,  where  we  have  been  to-day,  is  the 
only  one  which  has  been  reserved  by  Government  as  a 
park  for  the  nation.  It  lies  five  miles  from  here.  I  should 
rather  say  there  are  two  groves.  The  lower  grove  lies  in  a 
sheltered  valley  between  two  mountain-spurs ;  the  upper 
grove,  as  its  name  implies,  occupies  a  higher  level,  6,500 
feet  above  the  sea. 

We  breakfasted  very  early,  and  by  6  A.  M.  were  in  the 
saddle.  Capital,  sure-footed  ponies  were  provided  for  all 
who  chose  to  ride.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  preferred  walk- 
ing. From  this  house  we  had  to  ascend  about  2,500  feet. 

As  we  gradually  worked  uphill  through  the  coniferous 
belts,  the  trees  seemed  gradually  to  increase  in  size,  so  that 
the  eye  got  accustomed  by  degrees ;  and  when  at  length  we 
actually  reached  the  Big-Tree  grove  we  scarcely  realized 
that  we  were  in  the  presence  of  the  race  of  giants.  Only 
when  we  occasionally  halted  at  the  base  of  a  colossal  pillar, 
somewhere  about  eighty  feet  in  circumference,  and  about 
250  in  height,  and  compared  it  with  its  neighbours,  and, 
above  all,  with  ourselves — poor,  insignificant  pigmies — 
could  we  bring  home  to  our  minds  a  sense  of  its  gigantic 
proportions. 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA  245 

With  all  the  reverence  due  to  antiquity,  we  gazed  on 
these  Methuselahs  of  the  forest,  to  whom  a  few  centuries 
more  or  less  in  the  record  of  their  long  lives  are  a  trifle 
scarcely  worth  mentioning.  But  our  admiration  was  more 
freely  bestowed  on  the  rising  generation,  the  beautiful  young 
trees,  only  about  five  or  six  hundred  years  of  age,  and 
averaging  thirty  feet  in  circumference ;  while  still  younger 
trees,  the  mere  children  of  about  a  hundred  years  old,  still 
retain  the  graceful  habits  of  early  youth,  and  are  very 
elegant  in  their  growth — though,  of  course,  none  but  mere 
babies  bear  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the  tree  as  we 
know  it  on  English  lawns. 

It  really  is  heartbreaking  to  see  the  havoc  that  has  been 
done  by  careless  fires.  Very  few  of  the  older  trees  have 
escaped  scathless.  Most  of  this  damage  has  been  done  by 
Indians,  who  burn  the  scrub  to  scare  the  game,  and  the  fire 
spreads  to  the  trees,  and  there  smoulders  unheeded  for 
weeks,  till  happily  some  chance  extinguishes  it.  Many 
lords  of  the  forest  have  thus  been  burnt  out,  and  have  at 
last  fallen,  and  lie  on  the  ground  partly  embedded,  forming 
great  tunnels,  hollow  from  end  to  end,  so  that  in  several 
cases  two  horsemen  can  ride  abreast  inside  the  tree  from 
(what  was  once)  its  base  to  its  summit. 

We  halted  at  the  base  of  the  Grizzly  Giant,  which  well 
deserves  its  name  ;  for  it  measures  ninety-three  feet  in  cir- 
cumference, and  looks  so  battered  and  weather-worn  that  it 
probably  is  about  the  most  venerable  tree  in  the  forest.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  Sequoias  I  have  seen,  just 
because  it  has  broken  through  all  the  rules  of  symmetry,  so 


246  THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA 

rigidly  observed  by  its  well  conditioned,  well-grown  breth- 
ren ;  and  instead  of  being  a  vast  cinnamon-coloured  col- 
umn, with  small  boughs  near  the  summit,  it  has  taken  a 
line  of  its  own,  and  thrown  out  several  great  branches,  each 
about  six  feet  in  diameter — in  other  words,  about  as  large 
as  a  fine  old  English  beech-tree  ! 

This  poor  old  tree  has  a  great  hollow  burnt  in  it  (I  think 
the  Indians  must  have  used  it  as  a  kitchen),  and  our  half 
dozen  ponies  and  mules  were  stabled  in  the  hollow — a  most 
picturesque  group.  It  seems  strange  to  see  trees  thus 
scorched  and  charred,  with  their  insides  clean  burnt  out, 
yet,  on  looking  far,  far  overhead,  to  perceive  them  crowned 
with  fresh  blue-green,  as  if  nothing  ailed  them,  so  great  is 
their  vitality.  Benjamin  Taylor  says  of  such  a  one,  "  It 
did  not  know  that  it  ought  to  be  dead.  The  tides  of  life 
flowed  so  mightily  up  that  majestic  column !  " 

The  Indians  say  that  all  other  trees  grow,  but  that  the 
Big  Trees  are  the  special  creation  of  the  Great  Spirit.  So 
here  too,  you  see,  we  have,  not  tree-worship,  but  something 
of  the  reverence  accorded  to  the  cedar  in  all  lands.  The 
Hebrew  poet  sang  of  "  the  trees  of  the  Lord,  even  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon  which  He  hath  planted."  And  the  Hill 
tribes  of  Northern  India  build  a  rudely  carved  temple  be- 
neath each  specially  magnificent  clump  of  Deodar,  to  mark 
that  they  are  "  God's  trees  "  ;  while  in  the  sacred  Sanskrit 
poems  they  are  called  Deva  dara  or  Deva  daru,  meaning 
the  gift,  the  spouse,  the  word  of  God,  but  in  any  case,  de- 
noting the  sanctity  of  the  tree. 

Whether  these  Californian   Indians  had  any  similar  title 


THE  BIG  TREES  OF  CALIFORNIA  247 

for  their  Big  Trees,  I  have  failed  to  learn ;  but  the  name 
by  which  they  are  known  to  the  civilized  world  is  that  of 
Sequoyah,  a  half-caste  Cherokee  Indian,  who  distinguished 
himself  by  inventing  an  alphabet  and  a  written  language  for 
his  tribe.  It  was  a  most  ingenious  alphabet,  consisting  of 
eighty-six  characters,  each  representing  a  syllable,  and  was 
so  well  adapted  to  its  purpose  that  it  was  extensively  used 
by  the  Indians  before  the  white  man  had  ever  heard  of  it. 
Afterwards  it  was  adopted  by  the  missionaries,  who  started 
a  printing-press,  with  types  of  this  character,  and  issued  a 
newspaper  for  the  Cherokee  tribe,  by  whom  this  singular 
alphabet  is  still  used. 

When  the  learned  botanist,  Endlicher,  had  to  find  a  suit- 
able name  for  the  lovely  redwood  cedars,  he  did  honour  to 
Sequoyah,  by  linking  his  memory  forever  with  that  of  the 
evergreen  forests  of  the  Coast  Range.  And  when  after- 
wards these  Big  Trees  of  the  same  race  were  discovered  on 
the  Sierras,  they  of  course  were  included  under  the  same 
family  name. 

Granite  Crags  (Edinburgh  and  London,  1884). 


GERSOPPA  FALLS 

W.  M.  YOOL 

THESE,  the  most  famous  falls  in  India,  are  situated  on 
the  Siruvatti  (or  Sharavat'i)  river,  which  at  that 
part  of  its  course  forms  the  boundary  between  the  north- 
west corner  of  the  native  state  of  Mysore  and  the  Bombay 
Presidency.  The  source  of  the  river  is  in  Mysore,  half- 
way up  Koda  Chadri,  a  hill  about  five  thousand  feet  high, 
near  the  famous  old  town  of  Nuggur,  once  the  seat  of  the 
Rajahs  of  Mysore,  where  are  still  to  be  seen  the  ruins  of  an 
old  fort  and  palace,  and  the  walls  of  the  town,  eight  miles 
in  circumference. 

The  natives  have  a  legend  that  the  god  Rama  shot  an 
arrow  from  his  bow  on  to  Koda  Chadri,  and  that  the  river 
sprang  from  the  spot  where  the  arrow  fell,  and  hence  the 
name  Siruvatti  or  "  arrow-born."  From  its  source  the  river 
flows  north  for  nearly  thirty  miles  through  the  heart  of  the 
Western  Ghauts,  and  then  turns  west  and  flows  down 
through  the  jungles  of  North  Canara  to  the  Indian  Ocean 
— another  thirty  miles.  Shortly  after  taking  the  bend  west- 
wards there  comes  the  fall,  which,  on  account  of  its  height, 
is  worthy  of  being  reckoned  amongst  the  great  waterfalls  of 
the  world.  Here,  at  one  leap,  the  river  falls  eight  hundred 
and  thirty  feet ;  and  as,  at  the  brink,  it  is  about  four  hundred 


GP:RSOPPA  FALLS. 


GERSOPPA  FALLS  249 

yards  wide,  there  are  few,  if  any,  falls  in  the  world  to 
match  it. 

During  the  dry  weather  the  river  comes  over  in  four 
separate  falls,  but  in  the  height  of  the  monsoon  these  be- 
come one,  and  as  at  that  time  the  water  is  nearly  thirty  feet 
deep,  the  sight  must  be  truly  one  of  the  world's  wonders. 
It  has  been  calculated  that  in  flood-time  more  horse-power 
is  developed  by  the  Gersoppa  Falls  than  by  Niagara.  This 
of  course  is  from  the  much  greater  height  of  Gersoppa,  eight 
hundred  and  thirty  feet  against  about  one  hundred  and  sixty 
feet  of  Niagara,  although  the  Niagara  Falls  are  much  wider 
and  vaster  in  volume.  The  Kaieteur  Falls  of  the  Esse- 
quibo  in  British  Guiana  are  seven  hundred  and  forty-one 
feet  sheer  and  eighty-eight  more  of  sloping  cataract,  but  the 
river  there  is  only  one  hundred  yards  wide.  At  the  Victoria 
Falls,  the  Zambesi,  one  thousand  yards  wide,  falls  into  an 
abyss  four  hundred  feet  deep. 

My  friend  and  I  visited  the  falls  in  the  end  of  September, 
about  a  month  after  the  close  of  the  monsoon,  when  there 
were  four  falls  with  plenty  of  water  in  them.  The  dry 
weather  is  the  best  for  the  sight-seer,  as,  during  the  mon- 
soon, the  rain  is  so  heavy  and  continuous  that  there  would 
not  be  much  pleasure  in  going  there,  although  doubtless  the 
sight  would  be  grander  and  more  awe-inspiring.  The 
drainage  area  above  the  falls  is  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
square  miles,  and  the  average  yearly  rainfall  over  this  tract 
is  two  hundred  and  twenty  inches,  nearly  the  whole  of 
which  falls  in  the  three  monsoon  months,  June,  July,  Au- 
gust ;  so  it  can  be  imagined  what  an  enormous  body  of 


250  GERSOPPA  FALLS 

water  comes  down  the  river  in  these  months.  There  is  a 
bungalow  for  the  use  of  visitors  on  the  Bombay  side  of  the 
river,  about  a  hundred  yards  away  from  the  falls,  built  on 
the  very  brink  of  the  precipice  overhanging  the  gorge 
through  which  the  river  flows  after  taking  the  leap.  So 
close  to  the  edge  is  it  that  one  could  jump  from  the  veranda 
sheer  into  the  bed  of  the  river  nearly  a  thousand  feet  below. 

The  four  falls  are  called  The  Rajah,  The  Roarer,  The 
Roctet,  and  La  Dame  Blanche.  The  Rajah  and  Roarer  fall 
into  a  horseshoe-shaped  cavern,  while  the  Rocket  and  La 
Dame  Blanche  come  over  where  the  precipice  is  at  right 
angles  to  the  flow  of  the  river,  and  are  very  beautiful  falls. 
The  Rajah  comes  over  with  a  rush,  shoots  clear  out  from 
the  rock,  and  falls  one  unbroken  column  of  water  the 
whole  eight  hundred  and  thirty  feet.  The  Roarer  comes 
rushing  at  an  angle  of  sixty  degrees  down  a  huge  furrow  in 
the  rock  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  making  a  tremen- 
dous noise,  then  shoots  right  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
horseshoe,  and  mingles  its  waters  with  those  of  the  Rajah 
about  half-way  down.  The  Rocket  falls  about  two  hundred 
feet  in  sheer  descent  on  to  a  huge  knob  of  rock,  where  it  is 
dashed  into  spray,  which  falls  in  beautiful  smoky  rings, 
supposed  to  resemble  the  rings  formed  by  the  bursting  of 
rockets.  La  Dame  Blanche,  which  my  friend  and  I  thought 
the  most  beautiful,  resembles  a  snow-white  muslin  veil  fall- 
ing in  graceful  folds,  and  clothing  the  black  precipice  from 
head  to  foot. 

From  the  bungalow  a  fine  view  is  got  of  the  Rocket  and 
La  Dame  Blanche,  and  when  the  setting  sun  lights  up  these 


GERSOPPA  FALLS  251 

falls  and  forms  numerous  rainbows  in  the  spray,  it  makes 
an  indescribably  beautiful  scene.  Here  one  is  alone  with 
Nature,  not  a  house  or  patch  of  cultivation  anywhere.  In 
front  is  the  river,  and  all  around  are  mountains  and  prime- 
val forests,  while  the  ceaseless  roar  of  the  waterfall  adds  a 
grandeur  and  a  solemnity  not  easily  described. 

Near  where  theRajah  goes  over  is  a  projecting  rock 
called  the  Rajah's  Rock^  so  named  because  one  of  the  Ra- 
jahs of  Nuggur  tried  to  build  a  small  pagoda  on  it,  but  be- 
fore being  finished,  it  was  washed  away.  The  cutting  in 
the  rock  for  the  foundation  is  still  visible.  To  any  one 
who  has  a  good  head,  a  fine  view  of  the  horseshoe  cavern 
can  be  had  from  this  rock.  The  plan  is  to  lie  down  on 
your  stomach,  crawl  to  the  edge,  and  look  over,  when  you 
can  see  straight  down  into  the  pool  where  the  waters  are 
boiling  and  seething  nearly  a  thousand  feet  below.  I  took 
a  few  large  stones  to  the  edge  and  dropped  them  over,  but 
they  were  lost  to  view  long  before  they  reached  the  bottom. 
It  was  quite  an  appreciable  time  after  my  losing  sight  of 
them  before  I  observed  the  faint  splash  they  made  near  the 
edge  of  the  pool. 

In  order  to  get  to  the  foot  of  the  falls  it  is  necessary  to 
cross  the  river  to  the  Mysore  side,  as  there  is  no  possibility 
of  getting  down  to  the  Bombay  side.  About  half  a  mile 
above  the  falls  there  is  a  canoe,  dug  out  of  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  which  belongs  to  the  native  who  looks  after  the  bun- 
galow, and  ferries  people  across.  A  path  has  been  made  to 
enable  visitors  to  get  to  the  foot  of  the  falls,  and  many  fine 
views  of  all  four  are  got  while  descending.  The  first  half 


252  GERSOPPA  FALLS 

of  the  way  down  is  fairly  easy,  but  after  that  the  track  is  a 
succession  of  steps  down  great  boulders  and  across  slabs  of 
rock,  rendered  as  slippery  as  ice  by  the  constant  spray. 
Ere  my  friend  and  I  reached  the  bottom  we  were  soaking 
wet,  and  realized  when  too  late  that  we  should  have  left 
the  greater  part  of  our  clothes  behind  us.  By  going  to  the 
bottom  a  much  better  idea  of  the  immense  height  of  the 
falls  is  got,  and  the  climb  up  again  helps  still  more  to  make 
one  realize  it.  From  the  bungalow  the  largest  rocks  in  the 
bed  of  the  river  looked  like  sheep  ;  but  we  found  them  to 
be  huge  boulders,  ten  and  twelve  feet  high  and  about 
twenty  feet  across. 

The  falls  seem  to  have  become  known  to  Europeans 
about  1840,  but  were  very  seldom  visited  in  those  days. 
Even  now  the  number  of  visitors  is  small,  as  the  nearest 
railway  is  eighty  miles  off,  and  there  is  no  way  of  procur- 
ing supplies  with  the  exception  of  a  little  milk  and  a 
chicken  to  be  had  from  the  above-mentioned  native. 

For  a  good  many  years  there  was  great  uncertainty  about 
the  height  of  the  falls,  but  the  question  was  finally  set  at 
rest  by  two  naval  lieutenants  who  plumbed  them  in  1857. 
The  modus  operandi  was  as  follows  :  Their  ship  being  off 
the  coast  near  the  mouth  of  the  river,  they  got  a  cable 
transported  to  the  falls,  and  stretched  it  across  the  horse- 
shoe— a  distance  of  seventy-four  yards.  Having  seen  that 
the  cable  was  properly  secured  at  both  ends,  they  got  a  cage 
fixed  on,  and  one  of  them  got  into  it  and  was  hauled  out 
until  he  was  in  the  centre.  From  the  cage  he  let  down  a 
sounding  line  with  a  buoy  attached  to  the  end  of  it,  and 


GERSOPPA  FALLS  253 

found  the  depth  to  the  surface  of  the  water  to  be  eight  hun- 
dred and  thirty  feet.  After  satisfactorily  accomplishing 
this  feat,  they  proceeded  to  the  foot  of  the  falls,  and  con- 
structed a  raft  so  as  to  plumb  the  pools,  which  they  did, 
and  found  the  greatest  depth  to  be  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
two  feet.  This  was  done  near  the  end  of  the  dry  weather, 
when  there  was  very  little  water  in  the  river,  and  they  were 
able  to  temporarily  divert  the  Rajah  and  Roarer  into  the 
Rocket,  without  doing  which  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  plumb  the  horseshoe  pool — the  deepest  one — satisfactorily. 

About  a  mile  from  the  bungalow  is  a  hill  called  Nishani 
Goodda  or  Cairn  Hill,  from  the  top  of  which  a  magnificent 
view  of  the  surrounding  country  is  got.  To  the  east  lie 
the  table-lands  of  the  Deccan  and  Mysore,  the  flat  expanse 
broken  here  and  there  by  an  occasional  hill.  North  and 
south  stretches  the  chain  of  the  Ghauts,  rising  peak  after 
peak  as  far  as  the  eye  can  see  (Koda  Chadri,  where  the 
Siruvatti  rises,  being  very  conspicuous) ;  while  to  the  west 
one  looks  down  on  the  lowlands  of  jungle-covered  Canara, 
with  glimpses  of  the  river  here  and  there,  and  beyond  them 
gleams  the  Indian  Ocean. 

The  bungalow  book  in  which  visitors  inscribe  their 
names  is  very  interesting  reading.  The  records  go  back  to 
1840,  and  many  travellers  have  written  a  record  of  what 
they  did  when  there;  while  a  few,  inspired  by  the  scene, 
have  expressed  their  feelings  in  poetry,  some  of  it  well 
worth  copying  and  preserving  by  any  one  who  has  seen  the 
falls. 

Chambers'  Journal  (London,  1 896). 


ETNA 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

/"T~'SHE  word  Etna,  according  to  the  savants,  is  a  Phoe- 
JL  nician  word  meaning  the  mouth  of  the  furnace.  The 
Phoenician  language,  as  you  see,  was  of  the  order  of  that 
one  spoken  of  by  Covielle  to  the  Bourgeois  Gentilkomme, 
which  expressed  many  things  in  a  few  words.  Many  poets 
of  antiquity  pretend  that  it  was  the  spot  where  Deucalion 
and  Pyrrha  took  refuge  during  the  flood.  Upon  this  score, 
Signor  Gemellaro,  who  was  born  at  Nicolosi,  may  certainly 
claim  the  honour  of  having  descended  in  a  direct  line  from 
one  of  the  first  stones  which  they  threw  behind  them. 
That  would  leave,  as  you  see,  the  Montmorencys,  the 
Rohans,  and  the  Noailles,  far  behind. 

Homer  speaks  of  Etna,  but  he  does  not  designate  it  a 
volcano.  Pindar  calls  it  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  sky. 
Thucydides  mentions  three  great  explosions,  from  the 
epoch  of  the  arrival  of  the  Grecian  colonies  up  to  his  own 
lifetime.  Finally,  there  were  two  eruptions  in  the  time  of 
Denys ;  then  they  followed  so  rapidly  that  only  the  most 
violent  ones  have  been  counted. l 

1  The  principal  eruptions  of  Etna  took  place  in  the  year  662,  B.  c.,  and 
in  A.  D.  225,  420,  812,  1169,  1285,  1329,  1333,  1408,  1444,  1446,  1447, 
1536,  1603,  1607,  1610,  1614,  1619,  1634,  1669, 1682,  1688,  1689,  1702, 
1766,  and  1781. 


ETNA  255 

Since  the  eruption  of  1781,  Etna  has  had  some  little  de- 
sire to  overthrow  Sicily ;  but,  as  these  caprices  have  not 
had  serious  results,  Etna  may  be  is  permitted  to  stand  upon 
what  it  has  accomplished — it  is  unique  in  its  self-respect — 
and  to  maintain  its  eminence  as  a  volcano. 

Of  all  these  eruptions,  one  of  the  most  terrible  was  that 
of  1669.  As  the  eruption  of  1669  started  from  Monte 
Rosso,  and  as  Monte  Rosso  is  only  half  a  mile  to  the  left 
of  Nicolosi,  we  took  our  way,  Jadin  and  I,  to  visit  the 
crater,  after  having  promised  Signor  Gemellaro  to  come  to 
dinner  with  him. 

It  must  be  understood  beforehand  that  Etna  regards 
itself  too  far  above  ordinary  volcanos  to  proceed  in  their 
fashion  :  Vesuvius,  Stromboli,  and  even  Hekla  pour  the 
lava  over  their  craters,  just  as  wine  spills  over  a  too-full 
glass  ;  Etna  does  not  give  itself  this  trouble.  Its  crater  is 
only  a  crater  for  show,  which  is  content  to  play  cup  and 
ball  with  incandescent  rocks  large  as  ordinary  houses, 
which  one  follows  in  their  aerial  ascension  as  one  would 
follow  a  bomb  issuing  from  a  mortar ;  but,  during  this  time 
the  force  of  the  eruption  is  really  felt  elsewhere.  In  re- 
ality, when  Etna  is  at  work,  it  throws  up  very  simply  upon 
its  shoulders,  at  one  place  or  another,  a  kind  of  boil  about 
the  size  of  Montmartre  j  then  this  boil  breaks,  and  out  of 
it  streams  a  river  of  lava  which  follows  the  slope,  descends, 
burning,  or  overturning  everything  that  it  finds  before  it, 
and  ends  by  extinguishing  itself  in  the  sea.  This  method 
of  procedure  is  the  cause  of  Etna's  being  covered  with  a 
number  of  little  craters  which  are  formed  like  immense 


256  ETNA 

hay-mows ;  each  of  these  secondary  volcanos  has  its  date 
and  its  own  name,  and  all  have  occasioned  in  their  time, 
more  or  less  noise  and  more  or  less  ravage. 

We  got  astride  of  our  mounts  and  started  on  our  way 
upon  a  night  that  seemed  to  us  of  terrible  darkness  as  we 
issued  from  a  well-lighted  room  j  but,  by  degrees,  we  be- 
gan to  distinguish  the  landscape,  thanks  to  the  light  of  the 
myriads  of  stars  that  sprinkled  the  sky.  It  seemed  from 
the  way  in  which  our  mules  sank  beneath  us  that  we  were 
crossing  sand.  Soon  we  entered  the  second  region,  or  the 
forest  region,  that  is  if  the  few  scattered,  poor,  and  crooked 
trees  merit  the  name  of  forest.  We  marched  about  two 
hours,  confidently  following  the  road  our  guide  took  us,  or 
rather  our  mules,  a  road  which,  moreover,  to  judge  by  the 
eternal  declivities  and  ascents,  seemed  terribly  uneven. 
Already,  we  realized  the  wisdom  of  Signer  Gemellaro's 
provisions  against  the  cold,  and  we  wrapped  ourselves  in 
our  hooded  great-coats  a  full  hour  before  we  arrived  at  a 
kind  of  roofless  hovel  where  our  mules  stopped  of  them- 
selves. We  were  at  the  Casa  del  Bosco  or  della  Neve,  that 
is  to  say,  the  Forest  or  the  Snow,  names  which  it  merits  in 
either  summer  or  winter.  Our  guide  told  us  this  was  our 
halting-place.  Upon  his  invitation,  we  alighted  and  en- 
tered. We  were  half-way  on  the  road  to  the  Casa 
Inglese. 

During  our  halt  the  sky  was  enriched  by  a  crescent, 
which,  although  slender,  gave  us  a  little  light.  We  con- 
tinued to  march  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer  between  trees 
which  became  scarcer  every  twenty  feet  and  finally  disap- 


ETNA  257 

peared  altogether.  We  were  about  to  enter  the  third 
region  of  Etna,  and  we  knew  from  the  steps  of  the  mules 
when  they  were  passing  over  lava,  crossing  ashes,  or  when 
they  trampled  a  kind  of  moss,  the  only  vegetation  that 
creeps  up  to  this  point.  As  for  our  eyes,  they  were  of  very 
little  use,  the  sheen  appearing  to  us  more  or  less  coloured, 
and  that  was  all,  for  we  could  not  distinguish  a  single  de- 
tail in  the  midst  of  this  darkness. 

However,  in  proportion  as  we  ascended,  the  cold  became 
more  intense,  and,  notwithstanding  our  cloaks,  we  were 
freezing.  This  change  of  temperature  had  checked  con- 
versation, and  each  of  us,  occupied  in  trying  to  keep  him- 
self warm,  advanced  in  silence.  I  led  the  way,  and  if  I 
could  not  see  the  ground  on  which  we  advanced,  I  could 
distinguish  perfectly  on  our  right  the  gigantic  escarpments 
and  the  immense  peaks,  that  reared  themselves  like  giants, 
and  whose  black  silhouettes  stood  out  boldly  upon  the  deep 
blue  of  the  sky.  The  further  we  advanced,  the  stranger 
and  more  fantastic  shapes  did  these  apparitions  assume ; 
we  well  understood  that  Nature  had  not  originally  made 
these  mountains  as  they  are  and  that  it  was  a  long  con- 
test that  had  ravaged  them.  We  were  upon  the  battle- 
field of  the  Titans ;  we  clambered  over  Pelion  piled  upon 
Ossa. 

All  this  was  terrible,  sombre,  and  majestic;  I  saw  and  I 
felt  thoroughly  the  poetry  of  this  nocturnal  trip,  and  mean- 
while I  was  so  cold  that  I  had  not  the  courage  to  exchange 
a  word  with  Jadin  to  ask  him  if  all  these  visions  were  not 
the  result  of  the  weakness  that  I  experienced,  and  if  I  were 


258  ETNA 

not  dreaming.  From  time  to  time  strange  and  unfamiliar 
noises,  that  did  not  resemble  in  the  slightest  degree  any 
noises  that  one  is  accustomed  to  hear,  started  from  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  and  seemed  to  moan  and  wail  like  a 
living  being.  These  noises  had  something  so  unexpectedly 
lugubrious  and  solemn  about  them  that  they  made  your 
blood  run  cold. ....  We  walked  about  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  upon  the  steep  and  rough  road,  then  we  found 
ourselves  upon  a  slightly  inclined  slope  where  every  now 
and  then  we  crossed  large  patches  of  snow  and  in  which  I 
was  plunged  up  to  my  knees,  and  these  finally  became  con- 
tinuous. At  length  the  dark  vault  of  the  sky  began  to  pale 
and  a  feeble  twilight  illumined  the  ground  upon  which  we 
walked,  bringing  with  it  air  even  more  icy  than  we  had 
heretofore  breathed.  In  this  wan  and  uncertain  light  we 
perceived  before  us  something  resembling  a  house ;  we  ap- 
proached it,  Jadin  trotting  upon  his  mule,  and  I  coming  as 
fast  as  possible.  The  guide  pushed  open  the  door  and  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  Casa  Inglese^  built  at  the  foot  of  the 
cone,  for  the  great  relief  of  travellers. 

It  was  half-past  three  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  our  guide 
reminded  us  that  we  had  still  three-quarters  of  an  hour's 
climb  at  least,  and,  if  we  wished  to  reach  the  top  of  the 
cone  before  sunrise,  we  had  not  a  moment  to  lose. 

We  left  the  Casa  Inglese.  We  began  to  distinguish  ob- 
jects :  all  around  us  extended  a  vast  field  of  snow,  in  the 
centre  of  which,  making  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  de- 
grees, the  cone  of  Etna  rose.  Above  us  all  was  in  dark- 
ness j  towards  the  east  only  a  light  tint  of  opal  coloured  the 


ETNA  259 

sky  on  which  the  mountains  of  Calabria  were  vigorously 
outlined. 

At  a  hundred  feet  from  the  Casa  Inglese  we  en- 
countered the  first  waves  of  the  lava  plateau  whose  black 
hue  did  not  accord  with  the  snow,  in  the  midst  of  which  it 
rose  like  a  sombre  island.  We  had  to  mount  these  solid 
waves,  jumping  from  one  to  another,  as  I  had  done  at 
Chamouni  and  the  Mer  de  Glace,  with  this  difference,  that 
the  sharp  edges  tore  the  leather  of  our  shoes  and  cut  our 
feet.  This  passage,  which  lasted  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  was 
one  of  the  most  trying  of  the  route. 

We  were  now  about  a  third  of  the  way  up,  and  we  had 
only  taken  about  half  an  hour  to  ascend  four  hundred  feet ; 
the  east  brightened  more  and  more ;  the  fear  of  not  arriving 
at  the  summit  of  the  cone  in  time  to  see  the  sunrise  lent  us 
courage,  and  we  started  again  with  new  enthusiasm,  with- 
out pausing  to  look  at  the  immense  horizon  which  widened 
beneath  our  feet  at  each  step;  but  the  further  we  advanced, 
the  more  the  difficulties  increased ;  at  each  step  the  slope 
became  more  abrupt,  the  earth  more  friable,  and  the  air 
rarer.  Soon,  on  our  right,  we  began  to  hear  subterranean 
roarings  that  attracted  our  attention  ;  our  guide  walked  in 
front  of  us  and  led  us  to  a  fissure  from  which  came  a  great 
noise  and  a  thick  sulphurous  smoke  blown  out  by  an  in- 
terior current  of  air.  Approaching  the  edges  of  this  cleft, 
we  saw  at  an  unfathomable  depth  a  bottom  of  incandescent 
and  red  liquid;  and  when  we  stamped  our  feet,  the  ground 
resounded  in  the  distance  like  a  drum.  Happily  it  was 
perfectly  calm,  for  if  the  wind  had  blown  this  smoke  over 


260  ETNA 

to  our  side,  we  should  have  been  asphyxiated,  for  it  is 
charged  with  a  terrible  fumes  of  sulphur. 

We  found  ourselves  opposite  the  crater, — an  immense 
well,  eight  miles  in  circumference  and  900  feet  deep  ;  the 
walls  of  this  excavation  were  covered  with  scarified  matter 
of  sulphur  and  alum  from  top  to  bottom  ;  in  the  bottom  as 
far  as  we  could  see  at  the  distance  from  where  we  stood, 
there  was  some  matter  in  eruption,  and  from  the  abyss  there 
ascended  a  tenuous  and  tortuous  smoke,  resembling  a  gigantic 
serpent  standing  on  his  tail.  The  edges  of  the  crater  were 
cut  out  irregularly  at  a  greater  or  less  height.  We  were  at 
one  of  the  highest  points. 

Our  guide  permitted  us  to  look  at  this  sight  for  a  mo- 
ment, holding  us  back,  however,  every  now  and  then  by 
our  clothing  when  we  approached  too  near  the  precipice, 
for  the  rock  is  so  friable  that  it  could  easily  give  way  be- 
neath our  feet,  and  we  should  repeat  the  joke  of  Empedocles ; 
then  he  asked  us  to  remove  ourselves  about  twenty  feet 
from  the  crater  to  avoid  all  accidents,  and  to  look  around 
us. 

The  east,  whose  opal  tints  we  had  noticed  when  leaving 
the  Casa  Inglese,  had  changed  to  tender  rose,  and  was  now  in- 
undated with  the  flames  of  the  sun  whose  disc  we  began  to 
perceive  above  the  mountains  of  Calabria.  Upon  the  sides 
of  these  mountains  of  a  dark  and  uniform  blue,  the  towns 
and  villages  stood  out  like  little  white  points.  The  strait 
of  Messina  seemed  a  simple  river,  while  to  the  right  and 
left  we  saw  the  sea  like  an  immense  mirror.  To  the  left, 
this  mirror  was  spotted  with  several  black  dots :  these  black 


ETNA  26 1 

dots  were  the  islands  of  the  Lipariote  archipelago.  From 
time  to  time  one  of  these  islands  glimmered  like  an  inter- 
mittent light-house;  this  was  Stromboli,  throwing  out 
flames.  In  the  west,  everything  was  in  darkness.  The 
shadow  of  Etna  cast  itself  over  all  Sicily. 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  the  spectacle  did  nothing 
but  gain  in  magnificence.  I  have  seen  the  sun  rise  on 
Rigi  and  the  Faulhorn,  those  two  Titans  of  Switzerland : 
nothing  is  comparable  to  the  view  on  Etna's  summit ; 
Calabria  from  Pizzo  to  Cape  dell  Armi,  the  pass  from 
Scylla  to  Reggio,  the  Tyrrhenian  Sea,  the  Ionian  Sea  and 
the  ^Eolian  Islands  that  seem  within  reach  of  your  hand  ; 
to  the  right,  Malta  floating  on  the  horizon  like  a  light 
mist ;  around  us  the  whole  of  Sicily,  seen  from  a  bird's-eye 
view  with  its  shores  denticulated  with  capes,  promontories, 
harbours,  creeks  and  roads ;  its  fifteen  cities  and  three  hun- 
dred villages;  its  mountains  which  seem  like  hills;  its 
valleys  which  we  know  are  furrowed  with  ploughs;  its 
rivers  which  seem  threads  of  silver,  as  in  autumn  they  fall 
from  the  sky  to  the  grasses  of  the  meadows ;  and,  finally, 
the  immense  roaring  crater,  full  of  flames  and  smoke,  over- 
head Heaven  and  at  its  feet  Hell  :  such'  a  spectacle,  made 
us  forget  fatigue,  danger,  and  suffering.  I  admired  it  all 
without  reservation,  with  my  eyes  and  my  soul.  Never 
had  God  seemed  so  near  and,  consequently,  so  great. 

We  remained  there  an  hour,  dominating  all  the  old 
world  of  Homer,  Virgil,  Ovid,  and  Theocritus,  without 
the  idea  of  touching  a  pencil  occurring  to  Jadin  or  myself, 
until  it  seemed  to  us  that  this  picture  had  entered  deeply 


262  ETNA 

into  our  hearts  and  remained  graven  there  without  the  aid 
of  ink  or  sketch.  Then  we  threw  a  last  glance  over  this 
horizon  of  three  hundred  leagues,  a  sight  seen  once  in  a  life- 
time, and  we  began  our  descent. 

Le  Speronare :   Impressions  de  Voyage  (Paris,  1836.) 


PIKE'S  PEAK  AND  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS 

IZA  DUFFUS  HARDY 

/COLORADO  SPRINGS— so  called  because  the 
V^/  springs  are  at  Manitou,  five  miles  off,  is  a  prairie 
town  on  a  plateau  six  thousand  feet  high,  above  which 
Pike's  Peak  stands  sentinel,  lifting  his  snow-capped  head 
fourteen  thousand  feet  into  the  clear  depths  of  azure 
light,  in  which  no  fleck  of  cloud  floats  from  morn  to  night 
and  night  to  morn  again.  It  is  April,  and  not  a  drop  of 
rain  has  fallen  since  the  previous  August.  Mid-April,  and 
not  a  leaf  upon  a  tree.  Not  a  flower  or  a  bird  seems  to 
flourish  here.  No  spring-blossom  scents  the  keen  fresh  life- 
giving  air;  no  warbler  soars  high  up  into  the  stainless  sap- 
phire sky.  The  leafless  cottonwood  trees  stand  out  white 
in  the  flood  of  sunlight  like  trees  of  silver,  their  delicate 
bare  branches  forming  a  shining  tangle  of  silvery  network 
against  that  intense  blue  background. 

The  place  all  looks  bleak  and  barren  to  us ;  the  wild 
grandeur  of  the  mountains  is  unrelieved  by  the  rich  shadows 
of  the  pine  forests  or  the  sunny  green  glints  of  meadows 
that  soften  Alpine  scenery.  No  flower  gardens,  no  smiling 
valleys,  no  velvet  turf,  no  fragrant  orchards,  no  luxuriant 
hedge  rows ;  only  the  lonely  mountain  range,  the  crowning 
height  of  Pike's  Peak  stern  and  solitary  in  his  icy  exaltation, 


264    PIKE'S  PEAK  AND  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS 

and  the  dead  level  of  the  prairie,  stretching  away  eastward 
for  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  miles,  declining  always  at  a 
gradual  and  imperceptible  angle  till  it  slopes  down  to  the 
very  banks  of  the  great  Mississippi,  over  a  thousand 
miles  away. 

But,  although  the  spot  does  not  seem  altogether  a  Para- 
dise to  us,  it  is  a  veritable  Eden  for  consumptive  invalids. 
Here  they  come  to  find  again  the  lost  angel  of  Health,  and 
seldom  seek  again,  unless  they  come  too  late.  People  live 
here  who  can  live  nowhere  else.  They  long  to  return  to 
their  far-off  homes ;  but  home  to  them  means  death.  They 
must  live  in  this  Colorado  air,  or  die.  There  is  a  snake  in 
the  grass  of  this  Eden,  where  they  have  drunk  the  elixir  of 
a  new  life,  and  its  name  is  Nostalgia.  They  long — some 
of  them — for  the  snowy  winters  and  flowery  summers  of 
their  eastern  homes.  Others  settle  happily  and  con- 
tentedly in  the  endless  sunshine  of  winterless,  summerless 
Colorado. 

We  rattled  along  cheerily  in  our  light  spring-waggon  over 
the  smooth,  fine  roads,  viewing  the  landscape  from  beneath 
the  parasols  which  only  partially  shielded  us  from  the  blaz- 
ing sun.  Although  the  gentleman  from  Tennessee  pre- 
served a  truly  western  taciturnity,  our  driver  beguiled  the 
way  with  instructive  and  amusing  converse.  He  pointed 
out  to  us,  flourishing  by  the  wayside,  the  soap-weed,  whose 
root  is  a  perfect  substitute  for  soap,  and  taught  us  to  distin- 
guish between  the  blue  joint-grass — yellow  as  hay  in  winter, 
but  now  taking  on  its  hue  of  summer  green — and  the  grey- 
ish neutral-tinted  buffalo-grass,  which  is  most  succulent  and 


PIKE'S  PEAK  AND  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS     265 

nutritious,  although  its  looks  belie  it,  for  a  less  tempting- 
looking  herb  I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing.  He  also 
pointed  out  the  dead  body  of  a  cow  lying  on  a  desolate 
plain,  and  informed  us  it  would  dry  up  to  a  mummy  in  no 
time;  it  was  the  effect  of  the  air;  dead  cattle  speedily 
mummified,  and  were  no  nuisance.  Another  dried-up  bo- 
vine skeleton  bore  witness  to  the  truth  of  his  assertion. 

We  observed  that  the  soil  looked  barren  as  desert  sand  ; 
but  he  replied  that  it  only  required  irrigation  to  be  extremely 
fertile,  showed  us  the  irrigating  ditches  cut  across  the 
meadows,  and  described  to  us  some  of  the  marvellous  pro- 
ductions of  Colorado — a  single  cabbage-head  weighing  forty 
pounds,  etc.  He  told  us  of  the  wondrous  glories  of  the 
Arkansas  canon  and  the  Mount  of  the  Holy  Cross — which, 
alas !  we  were  not  to  see,  the  roads  thither  being  as  yet 
rough  travelling  for  ladies.  He  sang  the  praises  of  the 
matchless  climate,  and  the  joys  of  the  free,  healthful  life, 
far  from  the  enervating  and  deteriorating  influences  of  great 
cities.  Indeed,  it  appeared  from  his  conversation  that  no- 
where on  the  face  of  the  habitable  globe  could  there  be 
found  any  spot  even  remotely  emulating  the  charms  of 
Colorado — an  opinion  shared  by  every  Coloradian  with 
whom  we  held  any  intercourse. 

Our  way  then  led  up  the  Ute  Pass,  once,  in  days  not  so 
far  back  frequented  by  the  Ute  Indians.  Now,  not  an 
Indian  is  to  be  seen  for  miles ;  they  have  all  been  swept 
back  on  to  a  reservation,  and  the  story  of  the  Ute  outbreak 
there  of  the  past  autumn  is  yet  fresh  in  the  minds  of  all. 
The  Ute  Pass  is  a  winding,  uphill  road  along  the  side  of  a 


266    PIKE'S  PEAK  AND  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS 

deep  canon,  the  rocks  here  and  there  overhanging  it  threaten- 
ingly, and  affording  a  welcome  shade  from  the  piercing  sun- 
rays,  which  follow  us  even  here.  The  steep  walls  of  the 
canon  are  partly  clothed  and  crowned  with  pine-trees,  and 
along  its  depths  a  rapid,  sparkling  stream  bubbles  and  leaps 
over  the  rocks  and  boulders. 

Up  the  pass  a  waggon-train  is  toiling  on  its  way  to  the 
great  new  mining  centre — the  giant  baby  city — Leadville, 
the  youngest  and  most  wonderful  child  of  the  prolific  west! 
In  this  train  we  get  entangled,  and  move  slowly  along  with 
it — waggons  and  cattle  before  us,  waggons  and  cattle 
behind  us — tourists,  teamsters,  miners,  drivers,  drov- 
ers, dogs,  all  huddled  together  in  seemingly  inextricable 
confusion. 

At  the  top  of  the  pass,  we  tourists  turn  :  and,  while  the 
waggon-train  plods  on  its  slow  way,  we  make  the  best  of 
our  way  back  down  the  hill,  and  take  the  road  to  the 
Garden  of  the  Gods. 

Why  the  Garden  of  the  Gods  ?  I  do  not  myself  perceive 
the  appropriateness  of  the  appellation.  There  is  not  a 
flower  in  sight;  only  a  few  stunted  shrubs,  and  forlorn- 
looking,  thin  trees.  It  is  a  natural  enclosure,  of  fifty  or 
more  acres,  such  as  in  Colorado  is  called  a  "  park,"  scat- 
tered with  rocks  of  a  rich  red  hue,  and  the  wildest  and 
most  grotesque  shapes  imaginable. 

The  giants  might  have  made  it  their  playground,  and  left 
their  playthings  around  them.  Here,  tossed  and  flung 
about  as  if  by  a  careless  hand,  lie  the  huge  round  boulders 
with  which  they  played  at  ball.  Here  they  amused  them- 


PIKE'S  PEAK  AND  THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS    267 

selves  by  balancing  an  immense  mass  of  stone  on  a  point 
so  cunningly  that  it  has  stood  there  for  centuries  looking  as 
if  a  touch  would  overturn  it.  There  they  have  hewn  a 
high  rock  into  the  rough  semblance  of  a  veiled  woman — 
here  they  have  sculptured  a  man  in  a  hat — there  piled  up  a 
rude  fortress,  and  there  built  a  church. 

But  the  giants  have  deserted  their  playground  ages  ago, 
and  trees  have  grown  up  between  the  fantastic  formations 
they  left.  It  is  a  strange  weird  scene,  and  suggested  to  us 
forcibly  that  if  we  would  "  view  it  aright "  we  should 

"  Go  view  it  by  the  pale  moonlight ! ' 

How  spectral  those  strange  shapes  would  look  in  the 
gloom !  What  ghostly  life  would  seem  to  breathe  in  them 
when  the  white  moonbeams  bathed  their  eerie  outlines  in 
her  light !  There  is  a  something  lost  in  the  Garden  of  the 
Gods  to  us  who  only  saw  it  with  a  flood  of  sunshine  glow- 
ing on  its  ruddy  rocks.  Most  of  these  have  been  chris- 
tened according  to  their  form — the  Nun,  the  Scotchman, 
the  Camel,  and  so  on. 

Two  huge  walls  of  red  and  white  stone,  rising  perpen- 
dicularly a  sheer  three  hundred  feet,  form  the  gate  of  the 
Garden.  Through  this  colossal  and  for-ever-open  gate  we 
looked  back  with  a  sigh  of  farewell — our  glimpse  of  the 
scene  seemed  so  brief! — and  we  half-fancied  that  the  veiled 
Nun  bowed  her  dark  head  in  the  sunshine  in  parting  salute 
as  we  were  whirled  out  of  sight. 

Between  Two  Oceans,  or  Sketches  of  American  Travel 
(London,  1884). 


THE  GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND 

SIR  RICHARD  F.  BURTON 

ON  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Frachytic  pile  and  extend- 
ing round  the  north  of  the  rock-wall  are  the  Hvers 
and  Gey  sirs.  Nothing  can  be  meaner  than  their  appear- 
ance, especially  to  the  tourist  who  travels  as  usual  from 
Reykjavik;  nothing  more  ridiculous  than  the  contrast  of 
this  pin's  point,  this  atom  of  pyritic  formation,  with  the 
gigantic  theory  which  it  was  held  to  prove,  earth's  central 
fire,  the  now  obsolete  dream  of  classical  philosophers  and 
"  celebrated  academicians  " ;  nothing  more  curious  than  the 
contrast  between  Nature  and  Art,  between  what  we  see  in 
life  and  what  we  find  in  travellers'  illustrations.  Sir  John 
Stanley,  perpetuated  by  Henderson,  first  gave  consistence 
to  the  popular  idea  of  "  that  most  wonderful  fountain,  the 
Great  Geysir ; "  such  is  the  character  given  to  it  by  the 
late  Sir  Henry  Holland,  a  traveller  who  belonged  to  the 
"  wunderbar "  epoch  of  English  travel,  still  prevalent  in 
Germany.  From  them  we  derive  the  vast  background  of 
black  mountain,  the  single  white  shaft  of  fifty  feet  high, 
domed  like  the  popular  pine-tree  of  Vesuvian  smoke,  the 
bouquet  of  water,  the  Prince  of  Wales  feathers,  double- 
plumed  and  triple-plumed,  charged  with  stones;  and  the 
minor  .jets  and  side  squirts  of  the  foreground,  where  pig- 


GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND  269 

mies  stand  and  extend  the  arm  of  illustration  and  the  hand 
of  marvel. 

On  this  little  patch,  however,  we  may  still  study  the 
seven  forms  of  Geysir  life.  First,  is  the  baby  still  sleep- 
ing in  the  bosom  of  Mother  Earth,  the  airy  wreath  escap- 
ing from  the  hot  clay  ground ;  then  comes  the  infant 
breathing  strongly,  and  at  times  puking  in  the  nurse's  lap ; 
third,  is  the  child  simmering  with  impatience;  and  fourth, 
is  the  youth  whose  occupation  is  to  boil  over.  The  full- 
grown  man  is  represented  by  the  "  Great  Gusher  "  in  the 
plenitude  of  its  lusty  power;  old  age,  by  the  tranquil, 
sleepy  "  laug  " ;  and  second  childhood  and  death,  mostly 
from  diphtheria  or  quinsy,  in  the  empty  red  pits  strewed 
about  the  dwarf  plain.  "  Patheticum  est !  "  as  the  old 
scholiast  exclaimed. 

It  is  hardly  fair  to  enter  deeply  in  the  history  of  the 
Great  Geysir,  but  a  few  words  may  be  found  useful.  The 
silence  of  Ari  Frodi  (A.  D.,  1075),  and  of  the  Landnama- 
bok,  so  copious  in  its  details,  suggests  that  it  did  not  exist 
in  the  Eleventh  Century ;  and  the  notice  of  Saxo  Gram- 
naticus  in  the  preface  to  his  History  of  Denmark  proves 
that  it  had  become  known  before  the  end  of  the  Thir- 
teenth. Hence  it  is  generally  assumed  that  the  vol- 
canic movements  of  A.  D.,  1294,  which  caused  the 
disappearance  of  many  hot  springs,  produced  those  now 
existing.  Forbes  clearly  proved  the  growth  of  the  tube  by 
deposition  of  silex  on  the  lips ;  a  process  which  will  end  by 
scaling  the  spring:  he  placed  its  birth  about  1060  years 
ago,  which  seems  to  be  thoroughly  reasonable ;  and  thus 


2/0  GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND 

for  its  manhood  we  have  a  period  of  about  six  cen- 
turies. 

In  1770  the  Geyser  spouted  eleven  times  a  day;  in  1814 
it  erupted  every  six  hours;  and  in  1872  once  between  two 
and  a  week.  Shepherd  vainly  wasted  six  days ;  a  French 
party  seven ;  and  there  are  legends  of  a  wasted  fortnight. 

Remains  now  only  to  walk  over  the  ground,  which  divides 
itself  into  four  separate  patches :  the  extinct,  to  the  north-west, 
below  and  extending  round  the  north  of  the  Laugarfjall 
buttress ;  the  Great  Geysir ;  the  Strokkr  and  the  Thikku- 
hverar  to  the  south. 

In  the  first  tract  earth  is  uniformly  red,  oxidized  by  air, 
not  as  in  poetical  Syria  by  the  blood  of  Adonis.  The  hot, 
coarse  bolus,  or  trachytic  clay,  soft  and  unctuous,  astrin- 
gent, and  adhering  to  the  tongue  is  deposited  in  horizontal 
layers,  snowy-white,  yellow-white,  ruddy,  light-blue,  blue- 
grey,  mauve,  purple,  violet,  and  pale-green  are  the  Protean 
tints;  often  mixed  and  mottled,  the  effect  of  alum, 
sulphuric  acid,  and  the  decomposition  of  bisulphide  of 
iron.  The  saucer  of  the  Great  Geysir  is  lined  with 
Geysirite  (silica  hydrate),  beads  or  tubercles  of  grey-white 
silica;  all  the  others  want  these  fungi  or  coral-like  orna- 
ments. The  dead  and  dying  springs  show  only  age-rusty 
moulds  and  broken-down  piles,  once  chimneys  and  ovens, 
resembling  those  of  Reykir,  now  degraded  and  deformed  to 
countless  heaps  of  light  and  dark  grey.  Like  most  of  the 
modern  features,  they  drained  to  the  cold  rivulet  on  the 
east,  and  eventually  to  the  south.  The  most  interesting 
feature  is  the  Blesi  (pronounced  Blese\  which  lies  160  feet 


GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND  271 

north  of  the  Great  Geysir.  This  hot-water  pond,  a  Grotto 
Azurra,  where  cooking  is  mostly  done,  lies  on  a  mound, 
and  runs  in  various  directions.  To  the  north  it  forms  a 
dwarf  river-valley  flowing  west  of  the  Great  Geysir;  east- 
ward it  feeds  a  hole  of  bubbling  water  which  trickles  in  a 
streak  of  white  sinter  to  the  eastern  rivulet  and  a  drip- 
hole,  apparently  communicating  underground  with  an  ugly 
little  boiler  of  grey-brown,  scum-streaked,  bubbling  mud, 
foul-looking  as  a  drain.  The  "  beautiful  quiescient  spring  " 
measures  forty  feet  by  fifteen,1  and  is  of  reniform  or  insect 
shape,  the  waist  being  represented  by  a  natural  arch  of  stone 
spanning  the  hot  blue  depths  below  the  stony  ledges  which 
edge  them  with  scallops  and  corrugations.  Hence  the 
name  ;  this  bridge  is  the  "  blaze  "  streaking  a  pony's  face. 
Blesi  was  not  sealed  by  deposition  of  silex;  it  suddenly 
ceased  to  erupt  in  A.  D.,  1784,  the  year  after  the  Skaptar 
convulsion,  a  fact  which  suggests  the  origin  of  the  Geysirs. 
It  is  Mackenzie's  "  cave  of  blue  water  "  ;  and  travellers 
who  have  not  enjoyed  the  lapis  lazuli  of  the  Capri  grotto, 
indulge  in  raptures  about  its  colouration.  North-west  of 
the  Blesi,  and  distant  200  feet,  is  another  ruin,  situated  on 
a  much  higher  plane  and  showing  the  remains  of  a  large 
silicious  mould :  it  steams,  but  the  breath  of  life  comes 
feebly  and  irregularly.  This  is  probably  the  u  Roaring 
Geysir "  or  the  "  Old  Geysir,"  which  maps  and  plans 
place  eighty  yards  from  the  Great  Geysir. 

1  More  exactly  the  two  divisions  are  each  about  twenty  feet  long ;  the 
smaller  is  twelve  and  the  greater  is  eighteen  feet  broad;  the  extreme 
depth  is  thirty  feet. 


272  GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND 

The  Great  Geysir  was  unpropitious  to  us,  yet  we 
worked  hard  to  see  one  of  its  expiring  efforts.  An  Eng- 
lishman had  set  up  a  pyramid  at  the  edge  of  the  saucer, 
and  we  threw  in  several  hundredweights,  hoping  that  the 
silex,  acted  upon  by  the  excessive  heat,  might  take  the 
effect  of  turf;  the  only  effects  were  a  borborygmus  which 
sounded  somewhat  like  B'rr'rr't,  and  a  shiver  as  if  the 
Foul  Fiend  had  stirred  the  depths.  The  last  eruption  was 
described  to  us  as  only  a  large  segment  of  the  tube,  not 
exceeding  six  feet  in  diameter.  About  midnight  the 
veteran  suffered  slightly  from  singultus.  On  Monday  the 
experts  mispredicted  that  he  would  exhibit  between  8 
and  9  A.  M.,  and  at  i  A.  M.  on  Tuesday  there  was  a 
trace  of  second-childhood  life.  After  the  usual  eructation, 
a  general  bubble,  half  veiled  in  white  vapour,  rose  like  a 
gigantic  glass-shade  from  the  still  surface,  and  the  troubled 
water  trickled  down  the  basin  sides  in  miniature  boiling 
cascades.  There  it  flowed  eastwards  by  a  single  waste- 
channel  which  presently  forms  a  delta  of  two  arms,  the 
base  being  the  cold,  rapid,  and  brawling  rivulet ;  the 
northern  fork  has  a  dwarf  "  force,"  used  as  a  douche,  and 
the  southern  exceeds  it  in  length,  measuring  some  350 
paces. 

We  were  more  fortunate  with  the  irascible  Strokkr, 
whose  name  has  been  generally  misinterpreted.  Dillon 
calls  it  the  piston,  or  "  churning-staff"  ;  and  Barrow  the 
"  shaker  "  :  it  is  simply  the  "  hand-churn  "  whose  upright 
shaft  is  worked  up  and  down — the  churn-like  column  of 
water  suggested  the  resemblance.  This  feature,  perhaps 


GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND  273 

the  "  New  Geysir "  of  Sir  John  Stanley  and  Henderson, 
formerly  erupted  naturally,  and  had  all  the  amiable  eccen- 
tricity of  youth :  now  it  must  be  teased  or  coaxed. 
Stanley  gave  it  130  feet  of  jet,  or  36  higher  than  the 
Great  Geysir;  Henderson  50  to  80 ;  Symington,  100  to 
150  feet;  Bryson,  "upwards  of  a  hundred  ";  and  Baring- 
Gould,  "  rather  higher  than  the  Geysir."  We  found  it 
lying  275  feet  (Mackenzie  131  yards)  south  of  the  big 
brother,  of  which  it  is  a  mean  replica.  The  outer  diameter 
of  the  saucer  is  only  seven  feet,  the  inner  about  eighteen ; 
and  it  is  too  well  drained  by  its  silex-floored  channel  ever 
to  remain  full. 

The  most  interesting  part  to  us  was  the  fourth  or  south- 
ern tract.  It  is  known  as  the  Thikku-hverar,  thick 
caldrous  (hot  springs),  perhaps  in  the  sense  opposed  to  thin 
or  clear  water.  Amongst  its  "eruptiones  flatuum,"  the 
traveller  feels  that  he  is  walking 

"  Per  ignes 
Suppositos  cineri  doloso" 

There  are  at  least  fifty  items  in  operation  over  this  big 
lime-kiln ;  some  without  drains,  others  shedding  either  by 
sinter-crusted  channels  eastward  or  westward  through  turf 
and  humus  to  the  swampy  stream.  It  shows  an  im- 
mense variety,  from  the  infantine  puff  to  the  cold  turf- 
puddle  }  from  Jack-in-the-box  to  the  cave  of  blue-green 
water;  surrounded  by  ledges  of  silex  and  opaline  sinter 
(hydrate  of  silica),  more  or  less  broad  :  the  infernal  concert 
of  flip-flopping,  spluttering,  welling,  fizzing,  grunting, 


274  GREAT  GEYSIR  OF  ICELAND 

rumbling,  and  growling  never  ceases.  The  prevalent  tints 
are  green  and  white,  but  livelier  hues  are  not  wanting. 
One  "  gusherling  "  discharges  red  water ;  and  there  is  a 
spring  which  spouts,  like  an  escape  pipe,  brown,  high  and 
strong.  The  "  Little  Geysir,"  which  Mackenzie  places 
1 06  yards  south  of  the  Strokkr,  and  which  has  been  very 
churlish  of  late  years,  was  once  seen  to  throw  up  ten  to 
twelve  feet  of  clean  water,  like  the  jet  of  a  fire-play. 
The  "  Little  Strokkr  of  older  travellers,  a  wonderfully 
amusing  formation,  which  darts  its  waters  in  numerous 
diagonal  columns  every  quarter  of  an  hour,"  is  a  stufa  or 
steam-jet  in  the  centre  of  the  group,  but  it  has  long  ceased 
its  "  funning." 

Ultima    Thule ;  or,  a    Summer    in    Iceland  (London   and 
Edinburgh,  1875). 


THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE 

WILLIAM  BEATTIE 

A  SHORT  way  below  Grein  commences  the  rapid 
called  "  Greiner-schwall,"  where  the  river,  sud- 
denly contracting  its  channel,  and  walled  in  by  rugged 
precipices,  assumes  a  new  aspect  of  foam  and  agitation; 
while  the  roar  of  its  downward  course  breaks  deeper  and 
harsher  on  the  ear.  This  rugged  defile  is  the  immediate 
inlet  to  the  Strudel  and  Wirbel — the  Scylla  and  Charybdis 
of  the  Danube.  This  is  by  far  the  most  interesting  and 
remarkable  region  of  the  Danube.  It  is  the  fertile  theme 
of  many  legends  and  traditions  ;  and  in  pages  of  history 
and  romance  affords  ample  scope  for  marvellous  incidents 
and  striking  details.  Not  a  villager  but  can  relate  a  hun- 
dred instances  of  disasters  incurred,  and  dangers  overcome, 
in  this  perilous  navigation — of  lives  sacrificed  and  cargoes 
sunk  while  endeavouring  to  weather  the  three  grand 
enemies  of  the  passage — whirlpools,  rocks,  and  robbers. 
But,  independently  of  these  local  traditions,  and  the  difficul- 
ties and  dangers  of  the  strait — the  natural  scenery  which 
here  arrests  the  eye  is  highly  picturesque,  and  even  sub- 
lime. It  is  the  admiration  of  all  voyagers  on  the  Upper 
Danube,  and  keeps  a  firm  hold  of  the  memory  long  after 
other  scenes  and  impressions  have  worn  off.  Between 


276  THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE 

Ulm  and  the  confines  of  the  Ottoman  Empire,  there  is 
only  one  other  scene  calculated  to  make  anything  like  so 
forcible  an  impression  on  the  tourist ;  and  that  is  near  the 
cataracts  of  the  Iron  Gate — a  name  familiar  to  every  Ger- 
man reader. 

After  descending  the  Greiner-schwall,  or  rapids  of  the 
Grein  above  mentioned,  the  river  rolls  -on  for  a  con- 
siderable space,  in  a  deep  and  almost  tranquil  volume, 
which,  by  contrast  with  the  approaching  turmoil,  gives  in- 
creased effect  to  its  wild,  stormy,  and  romantic  features. 
At  first,  a  hollow,  subdued  roar,  like  that  of  distant  thunder 
strikes  the  ear  and  rouses  the  traveller's  attention.  This 
increases  every  second,  and  the  stir  and  activity  which  now 
prevail  among  the  hands  on  board  shows  that  additional 
force,  vigilance,  and  caution  are  to  be  employed  in  the  use 
of  helm  and  oars.  The  water  is  now  changed  in  its  colour 
— chafed  into  foam,  and  agitated  like  a  seething  cauldron. 
In  front,  and  in  the  centre  of  the  channel,  rises  an  abrupt, 
isolated,  and  colossal  rock,  fringed  with  wood,  and  crested 
with  a  mouldering  tower,  on  the  summit  of  which  is 
planted  a  lofty  cross,  to  which,  in  the  moment  of  danger, 
the  ancient  boatmen  were  wont  to  address  their  prayers  for 
deliverance.  The  first  sight  of  this  used  to  create  no  little 
excitement  and  apprehension  on  board ;  the  master  ordered 
strict  silence  to  be  observed — the  steersman  grasped  the 
helm  with  a  firm  hand, — the  passengers  moved  aside — so 
as  to  leave  free  space  for  the  boatmen,  while  the  women 
and  children  were  hurried  into  the  cabin,  there  to  await, 
with  feelings  of  no  little  anxiety,  the  result  of  the  enter- 


THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE  277 

prise.  Every  boatman,  with  his  head  uncovered,  muttered 
a  prayer  to  his  favourite  saint;  and  away  dashed  the  barge 
through  the  tumbling  breakers,  that  seemed  as  if  hurrying  it 
on  to  inevitable  destruction.  All  these  preparations,  joined 
by  the  wildness  of  the  adjacent  scenery,  the  terrific  aspect 
of  the  rocks,  and  the  tempestuous  state  of  the  water,  were 
sufficient  to  produce  a  powerful  sensation  on  the  minds  even 
of  those  who  had  been  all  their  lives  familiar  with  dangers ; 
while  the  shadowy  phantoms  with  which  superstition  had 
peopled  it,  threw  a  deeper  gloom  over  the  whole  scene. 

Now,  however,  these  ceremonies  are  only  cold  and 
formal ;  for  the  danger  being  removed,  the  invocation  of 
guardian  saints  has  become  less  fervent,  and  the  cross  on 
the  Worther  Isle,  we  fear,  is  often  passed  with  little  more 
than  the  common  sign  of  obeisance. 

Within  the  last  fifty  years  the  rocks  in  the  bed  of  the 
river  have  been  blasted,  and  the  former  obstruction  so 
greatly  diminished,  that  in  the  present  day,  the  Strudel  and 
Wirbel  present  no  other  dangers  than  what  may  be  caused 
by  the  ignorance  or  negligence  of  boatmen ;  so  that  the 
tourist  may  contemplate  the  scene  without  alarm,  and  en- 
joy, in  all  its  native  grandeur,  the  picture  here  offered  to 
his  eye  and  imagination  — 

Frowning  o'er  the  weltering  flood, 
Castled  rock  and  waving  wood, 
Monkish  cell  and  robbers'  hold  — 
Rugged  as  in  days  of  old, 
From  precipices,  stern  and  grey, 
Guard  the  dark  and  dreaded  way. 

The  tourist  who  has  happily   escaped  the  perils   of  the 


278  THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE 

Strudel  rapids,  has  still  to  encounter,  in  his  descent,  the 
whirlpool  of  the  Wirbel,  which  is  distant  from  the  former 
little  more  than  five  hundred  fathoms.  Between  the  two 
perils  of  this  passage  in  the  Danube  there  is  a  remarkable 
similarity — magna  componere  parvis — with  that  of  the  Faro 
of  Messina ;  where  the  hereditary  terrors  of  Scylla  and 
Charybdis  still  intimidate  the  pilot,  as  he  struggles  to  main- 
tain a  clear  course  through  the  strait : 

"  There,  in  foaming  whirls  Charybdis  curls, 

Loud  Scylla  roars  to  larboard ; 
In  that  howling  gulf,  with  the  dog  and  wolf, 
Deep  moored  to-night,  with  her  living  freight, 
That  goodly  ship  is  harboured !  " 

The  cause  of  the  whirlpool  is  evident  at  first  sight.  In 
the  centre  of  the  stream  is  an  island  called  the  Hansstein, 
about  a  hundred  and  fifty  yards  long,  by  fifty  in  breadth, 
consisting  of  primitive  rock,  and  dividing  the  river — which 
at  this  point  descends  with  tremendous  force — into  the  two 
separate  channels  of  the  Hossgang  and  the  Strudel  already 
mentioned.  In  its  progress  to  this  point,  it  meets  with  that 
portion  of  the  river  which  runs  smoothly  along  the  north- 
ern shore,  and  breaking  it  into  a  thousand  eddies,  forms  the 
Wirbel.  This  has  the  appearance  of  a  series  of  foaming 
circles,  each  deepening  as  it  approaches  the  centre,  and 
caused  by  the  two  opposite  streams  rushing  violently 
against  each  other.  That  such  is  the  real  cause  of  the 
Wirbel  is  sufficiently  proved  by  the  fact,  that,  in  the  great 
autumnal  inundation  of  1787,  when  the  flood  ran  so  high 
as  to  cover  the  Hansstein,  the  Wirbel,  to  the  astonishment 


THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE  279 

of  the  oldest  boatmen  and  natives  of  the  country,  had  en- 
tirely disappeared.  For  the  obstacle  being  thus  counter- 
acted by  the  depth  of  the  flood,  and  the  stream  being  now 
unbroken  by  the  rock,  rushed  down  in  one  continuous 
volume,  without  exhibiting  any  of  those  gyratory  motions 
which  characterize  the  Wirbel. 

The  sombre  and  mysterious  aspects  of  the  place,  its  wild 
scenery,  and  the  frequent  accidents  which  occurred  in  the 
passage,  invested  it  with  awe  and  terror;  but  above  all,  the 
superstitions  of  the  time,  a  belief  in  the  marvellous,  and  the 
credulity  of  the  boatmen,  made  the  navigation  of  the 
Strudel  and  the  Wirbel  a  theme  of  the  wildest  romance. 
At  night,  sounds  that  were  heard  far  above  the  roar  of  the 
Danube,  issued  from  every  ruin.  Magical  lights  flashed 
through  their  loop-holes  and  casements — festivals  were  held 
in  the  long-deserted  halls — maskers  glided  from  room  to 
room — the  waltzers  maddened  to  the  strains  of  an  infernal 
orchestra — armed  sentinels  paraded  the  battlements,  while 
at  intervals  the  clash  of  arms,  the  neighing  of  steeds,  and 
the  shrieks  of  unearthly  combatants  smote  fitfully  on  the 
boatman's  ear.  But  the  tower  in  which  these  scenes  were 
most  fearfully  enacted  was  that  on  the  Longstone,  com- 
monly called  the  "  Devil's  Tower,"  as  it  well  deserved  to 
be — for  here,  in  close  communion  with  his  master,  resided 
the  "  Black  Monk,"  whose  office  it  was  to  exhibit  false 
lights  and  landmarks  along  the  gulf,  so  as  to  decoy  the 
vessels  into  the  whirlpool,  or  dash  them  against  the  rocks. 

Returning  to  Orsova,  we  re-embarked  in  boats  provided 
by  the  Navigation  Company,  and  proceeded  to  encounter 


280  THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE 

the  perils  of  the  Eisen  Thor — the  Iron  Gate  of  the  Danube 
— which  is  so  apt  to  be  associated  in  the  stranger's  imagina- 
tion with  something  of  real  personal  risk  and  adventure. 
The  "  Iron  Gate"  we  conjecture,  is  some  narrow,  dark 
and  gloomy  defile,  through  which  the  water,  hemmed  in  by 
stupendous  cliffs,  and  "  iron-bound,"  as  we  say,  foams  and 
bellows,  and  dashes  over  a  channel  of  rocks,  every  one  of 
which,  when  it  cannot  drag  you  into  its  own  whirlpool,  is 
sure  to  drive  you  upon  some  of  its  neighbours,  which,  with 
another  rude  shove,  that  makes  your  bark  stagger  and  reel, 
sends  you  smack  upon  a  third!  "But  the  'gate'?" 
"  Why  the  gate  is  nothing  more  or  less  than  other  gates, 
the  '  outlet ' ;  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  very  glad  when  we 
are  l  let  out  quietly.' "  "  Very  narrow  at  that  point, 
s'pose  ?  "  "Very.  You  have  seen  an  iron  gate  ?  "  "  To 
be  sure  I  have."  "  Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,  because  you 
can  more  readily  imagine  what  the  Iron  Gate  of  the 
Danube  is."  "  Yes,  and  I  am  all  impatience  to  see  it ;  but 
what  if  it  should  be  locked  when  we  arrive?  "  "Why,  in 
that  case,  we  should  feel  a  little  awkward."  "  Should  we 
have  to  wait  long  ?  "  "  Only  till  we  got  the  key,  although 
we  might  have  to  send  to  Constantinople  for  it."  "  Con- 
stantinople !  well,  here's  a  pretty  situation  !  I  wish  I  had 
gone  by  the  l  cart.' '  "  You  certainly  had  your  choice, 
and  might  have  done  so — the  Company  provide  both 
waggon  and  water  conveyance  to  Gladova ;  but  I  dare  say 
we  shall  find  the  gate  open."  "  I  hope  we  shall ;  and  as 
for  the  rocks  and  all  that,  why  we  got  over  the  Wirbel  and 
Strudel  and  Izlay  and  twenty  others,  and  s'pose  we  get  over 


THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE  281 

this  too.  It's  only  the  gate  that  puzzles  me — the  Hand- 
book says  not  a  word  about  that — quite  unpardonable  such 
an  omission  !  Write  to  the  publisher." 

By  this  time  we  were  ready  to  shoot  the  rapids;  and 
certainly,  at  first  appearance,  the  enterprise  was  by  no 
means  inviting.  The  water,  however,  was  in  good  volume 
at  the  time ;  and  although  chafed  and  fretted  by  a  thousand 
cross,  curling  eddies,  which  tossed  their  crests  angrily 
against  our  bark,  we  kept  our  course  with  tolerable  steadi- 
ness to  the  left,  and  without  apparent  danger,  unless  it 
might  have  arisen  from  sheer  ignorance  or  want  of  precau- 
tion. More  towards  the  centre  of  the  channel  there  would 
certainly  have  been  some  risk ;  for  there  the  river  is  tor- 
tured and  split  into  numberless  small  threads  of  foam,  by 
the  rocky  spikes  which  line  the  channel,  and  literally  tear 
the  water  into  shreds,  as  it  sweeps  rapidly  over  them — and 
these,  more  than  the  declivity  itself,  are  what  present  a 
more  formidable  appearance  in  the  descent.  But  when  the 
river  is  full,  they  are  not  much  observed,  although  well- 
known  by  their  effects  in  the  cross-eddies,  through  which, 
from  the  channel  for  boats  being  always  intricate  and  ir- 
regular, it  demands  more  caution  and  experience  to  steer. 
The  entire  length  of  these  rapids  is  rather  more  than 
seventeen  hundred  yards,  with  a  perpendicular  fall  of 
nearly  one  yard  in  every  three  hundred,  and  a  velocity  of 
from  three  to  five  yards  in  every  second.  Boats,  neverthe- 
less, are  seen  from  time  to  time,  slowly  ascending,  close 
under  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  dragged  by  teams  of  oxen. 
"  But  the  Iron  Gate  ? "  said  an  anxious  voice,  again  ad- 


282  THE  RAPIDS  OF  THE  DANUBE 

dressing  his  fellow-tourist.  "  I  see  nothing  like  a  gate — 
but  of  course  we  have  to  pass  the  gorge  first  ?  "  "  We 
have  passed  both,"  said  his  friend,  "  and  here  is  Gladova." 
"  Passed  both  !  l  Tell  that  to  the  marines  !  '  I  know  a 
gorge  when  I  see  it,  and  a  gate  when  I  see  it ;  but  as  yet 
we've  passed  neither."  "Why,  there  they  are,"  reiterated 
the  other,  pointing  to  the  stern  ;  "  those  white,  frothing 
eddies  you  see  dancing  in  the  distance — those  are  the 
4  Iron-Gate  ! '  and  very  luckily  we  found  the  4  key.'  "  l 
The  inquirer  now  joined  heartily  in  the  laugh,  and  taking 
another  view  of  the  "  Gate "  we  glided  smoothly  down 
to  the  little  straggling,  thatch-clad  village  of  Gladova. 
The  Danube  (London,  1844). 

1  At  the  Iron  Gate  the  Danube  quits  the  Austrian  Dominions  and 
enters  those  of  Turkey.  The  country  on  the  south  continues  for  some 
time  mountainous,  then  hilly,  and  by  degrees  sinks  into  a  plain :  on  the 
north  is  the  great  level  of  Wallachia.  In  its  course  towards  the  Black 
Sea,  the  Danube  divides,  frequently  forming  numerous  islands,  especially 
below  Silistria.  Its  width  where  undivided  now  averages  from  fifteen 
hundred  to  two  thousand  yards,  its  depth  above  twenty  feet.  Before 
reaching  its  mouth,  several  large  rivers  flow  into  it,  as  the  Alt,  Sereth, 
and  Pruth.  On  its  junction  with  the  last-mentioned  river  it  divides  into 
several  branches,  which  do  not  again  unite,  and  it  at  last  terminates  its 
long  course  by  issuing  through  seven  several  mouths  into  the  Black  Sea. 


THE  MAMMOTH  CAVE 

BAYARD  TAYLOR 

THERE  was  no  outbreathing  from  the  regions  below 
as  we  stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  cave,  the  upper 
atmosphere  having  precisely  the  same  temperature.  We 
advanced  in  single  file  down  the  Main  Avenue,  which,  from 
the  increased  number  of  lamps,  showed  with  greater  dis- 
tinctness than  on  our  first  trip.  Without  pausing  at  any 
of  the  objects  of  interest  on  the  road,  we  marched  to  the 
Giant's  Coffin,  crawled  through  the  hole  behind  it,  passed 
the  Deserted  Chambers,  and  reached  the  Bottomless  Pit,  the 
limit  of  our  journey  in  this  direction  the  previous  day. 

Beyond  the  Pit  we  entered  upon  new  ground.  After 
passing  from  under  its  Moorish  dome  the  ceiling  became 
low  and  the  path  sinuous  and  rough.  I  could  only  walk  by 
stooping  considerably,  and  it  is  necessary  to  keep  a  sharp 
look-out  to  avoid  striking  your  head  against  the  transverse 
iambs  of  rock.  This  passage  is  aptly  called  the  Valley  of 
Humiliation.  It  branches  off  to  the  right  into  another  pas- 
sage called  Pensico  Avenue,  which  contains  some  curious 
stalactitic  formations,  similar  to  the  Gothic  Gallery.  We 
did  not  explore  it,  but  turned  to  the  left  and  entered  an  ex- 
tremely narrow,  winding  passage,  which  meanders  through 
the  solid  rock.  It  is  called  Fat  Man's  Misery,  and  any  one 


284  THE   MAMMOTH  CAVE 

whose  body  is  more  than  eighteen  inches  in  breadth  will 
have  trouble  to  get  through.  The  largest  man  who  ever 
passed  it  weighed  two  hundred  and  sixty  pounds,  and  any 
gentleman  weighing  more  than  that  must  leave  the  best 
part  of  the  cave  unexplored.  None  of  us  came  within  the 
scope  of  prohibition  (Nature,  it  seems,  is  opposed  to  corpu- 
lence), and  after  five  minutes'  twisting  we  emerged  into  a 
spacious  hall  called  the  Great  Relief.  Its  continuation 
forms  an  avenue  which  leads  to  Bandits'  Hall — a  wild, 
rugged  vault,  the  bottom  of  which  is  heaped  with  huge 
rocks  that  have  fallen  from  above.  All  this  part  of  the 
cave  is  rich  in  striking  and  picturesque  effects,  and  presents 
a  more  rude  and  irregular  character  than  anything  we  had 
yet  seen. 

At  the  end  of  Bandits'  Hall  is  the  Meat-Room,  where  a 
fine  collection  of  limestone  hams  and  shoulders  are  sus- 
pended from  the  ceiling,  as  in  a  smoke-house,  the  resem- 
blance, which  is  really  curious,  is  entirely  owing  to  the  action 
of  the  water.  The  air  now  grew  perceptibly  damp,  and  a  few 
more  steps  brought  us  to  the  entrance  of  River  Hall.  Here 
the  ceiling  not  only  becomes  loftier,  but  the  floor  gradually 
slopes  away  before  you,  and  you  look  down  into  the  vast 
depths  and  uncertain  darkness,  and  question  yourself  if  the 
Grecian  fable  be  not  indeed  true.  While  I  paused  on  the 
brink  of  these  fresh  mysteries  the  others  of  the  party  had 
gone  ahead  under  the  charge  of  Mat ;  Stephen,  who  re- 
mained with  me,  proposed  that  we  should  descend  to  the 
banks  of  the  Styx  and  see  them  crossing  the  river  upon  the 
Natural  Bridge.  We  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  black, 


THE   MAMMOTH  CAVE  285 

silent  water ;  the  arch  of  the  portal  was  scarcely  visible  in 
the  obscurity  far  above  us.  Now,  as  far  below,  I  saw  the 
twinkle  of  a  distant  lamp,  then  another  and  another.  "  Is  it 
possible,"  I  asked,  u  that  they  have  descended  so  much 
further  ?  "  "  You  forget,"  said  Stephen,  "  that  you  are 
looking  into  the  river  and  see  their  reflected  images.  Stoop 
a  little  and  you  will  find  that  they  are  high  above  the 
water."  I  stooped  and  looked  under  an  arch,  and  saw  the 
slow  procession  of  golden  points  of  light  passing  over  the 
gulf  under  the  eaves  of  a  great  clifF;  but  another  procession 
quite  as  distinct  passed  on  below  until  the  last  lamp  disap- 
peared and  all  was  darkness  again. 

Five  minutes  more  and  the  roughest  and  most  slippery 
scrambling  brought  us  to  the  banks  of  the  Lethe  River, 
where  we  found  the  rest  of  the  party. 

The  river  had  risen  since  the  previous  day,  and  was  at  the 
most  inconvenient  stage  possible.  A  part  of  the  River 
Walk  was  overflowed,  yet  not  deep  enough  to  float  the 
boats.  Mat  waded  out  and  turned  the  craft,  which  was 
moored  to  a  projecting  rock,  as  near  to  us  as  the  water 
would  allow,  after  which  he  and  Stephen  carried  us  one  by 
one  upon  their  shoulders  and  deposited  us  in  it.  It  was  a 
rude,  square  scow,  well  plastered  with  river  mud.  Boards 
were  laid  across  for  the  ladies,  the  rest  of  us  took  our  seats 
on  the  muddy  gunwales,  the  guides  plied  their  paddles,  and 
we  were  afloat  on  Lethe. 

After  a  ferriage  of  about  one  hundred  yards,  we  landed 
on  a  bank  of  soft  mud  besides  a  small  arm  of  the  river, 
which  had  overflowed  the  usual  path.  We  sank  to  our 


286  THE   MAMMOTH   CAVE 

ankles  in  the  moist,  tenacious  soil,  floundering  laboriously 
along  until  we  were  brought  to  a  halt  by  Echo  River,  the 
third  and  last  stream.  This  again  is  divided  into  three  or 
four  arms,  which,  meandering  away  under  low  arches, 
finally  unite. 

As  we  stood  on  the  wet  rocks,  peering  down  into  the 
black  translucence  of  the  silent,  mysterious  water,  sounds — 
first  distant,  then  near,  then  distant  again — stole  to  us  from 
under  the  groined  vaults  of  rock.  First,  the  dip  of  many 
oars ;  then  a  dull,  muffled  peal,  rumbling  away  like  the 
echoes  of  thunder;  then  a  voice  marvellously  sweet,  but 
presently  joined  by  others  sweeter  still,  taking  up  the  dying 
notes  ere  they  faded  into  silence,  and  prolonging  them 
through  remoter  chambers.  The  full,  mellow  strains  rose 
until  they  seemed  sung  at  our  very  ears,  then  relapsed  like 
ebbing  waves,  to  wander  off  into  solitary  halls,  then  ap- 
proached again,  and  receded,  like  lost  spirits  seeking  here 
and  there  for  an  outlet  from  the  world  of  darkness.  Or 
was  it  a  chorus  of  angels  come  on  some  errand  of  pity  and 
mercy  to  visit  the  Stygian  shores  ?  As  the  heavenly  har- 
monies thickened,  we  saw  a  gleam  on  the  water,  and  pres- 
ently a  clear  light,  floating  above  its  mirrored  counterfeit, 
swept  into  sight.  It  was  no  angel,  but  Stephen,  whose 
single  voice  had  been  multiplied  into  that  enchanting  chorus. 

The  whole  party  embarked  in  two  small  boats,  and  after 
a  last  voyage  of  about  two  hundred  yards,  were  landed  be- 
yond the  waters,  and  free  to  explore  the  wonderful  avenues 
of  that  new  world  of  which  Stephen  is  the  Columbus. 
The  River  Hall  here  terminates,  and  the  passages  are 


THE  MAMMOTH  CAVE  287 

broken  and  irregular  for  a  short  distance.  A  few  minutes 
of  rough  travel  brought  us  to  a  large  circular  hall  with  a 
vaulted  ceiling,  from  the  centre  of  which  poured  a  cascade 
of  crystal  water,  striking  upon  the  slant  side  of  a  large  re- 
clining boulder,  and  finally  disappearing  through  a  funnel- 
shaped  pit  in  the  floor.  It  sparkled  like  a  shower  of  pearls 
in  the  light  of  our  lamps,  as  we  clustered  around  the  brink 
of  the  pit  to  drink  from  the  stores  gathered  in  those  natural 
bowls  which  seem  to  have  been  hollowed  out  for  the  uses 
of  the  invisible  gnomes. 

Beyond  Cascade  Hall  commences  Silliman's  Avenue,  a 
passage  about  twenty  feet  wide,  forty  or  fifty  in  height,  and 
a  mile  and  a  half  in  length. 

Our  lamps  were  replenished  and  we  entered  El  Ghor, 
which  is  by  far  the  most  picturesque  avenue  in  the  cave. 
It  is  a  narrow,  lofty  passage  meandering  through  the  heart 
of  a  mass  of  horizontal  strata  of  limestone,  the  broken 
edges  of  which  assume  the  most  remarkable  forms.  Now 
there  are  rows  of  broad,  flat  shelves  overhanging  your 
head ;  now  you  sweep  around  the  stern  of  some  mighty 
vessel  with  its  rudder  set  hard  to  starboard ;  now  you  enter 
a  little  vestibule  with  friezes  and  mouldings  of  almost  Doric 
symmetry  and  simplicity;  and  now  you  wind  away  into  a 
Cretan  labyrinth  most  uncouth  and  fantastic,  whereof  the 
Minotaur  would  be  a  proper  inhabitant.  It  is  a  continual 
succession  of  surprises,  and,  to  the  appreciative  visitor,  of 
raptures.  The  pass  is  somewhat  more  than  a  mile  and  a 
half'm  length,  and  terminates  in  a  curious  knot  or  entangle- 
ment of  passages  leading  to  two  or  more  tiers  of  avenues. 


288  THE   MAMMOTH   CAVE 

We  were  now,  according  to  Stephen's  promises,  on  the 
threshold  of  wonders.  Before  proceeding  further  we 
stopped  to  drink  from  a  fine  sulphur  spring  which  fills  a 
natural  basin  in  the  bottom  of  a  niche  made  on  purpose 
to  contain  it.  We  then  climbed  a  perpendicular  ladder, 
passing  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling  barely  large  enough  to 
admit  our  bodies,  and  found  ourselves  at  the  entrance  of  a 
narrow,  lofty  passage  leading  upwards.  When  all  had 
made  the  ascent  the  guides  exultingly  lifted  their  lamps  and 
directed  our  eyes  to  the  rocks  overhanging  the  aperture ; 
there  was  the  first  wonder,  truly !  Clusters  of  grapes 
gleaming  with  blue  and  violet  tints  through  the  water  which 
trickled  over  them,  hung  from  the  cliffs,  while  a  stout  vine, 
springing  from  the  base  and  climbing  nearly  to  the  top, 
seemed  to  support  them.  Hundreds  on  hundreds  of 
bunches  clustering  so  thickly  as  to  conceal  the  leaves,  hang 
forever  ripe  and  forever  unplucked  in  that  marvellous  vint- 
age of  the  subterranean  world.  For  whose  hand  shall 
squeeze  the  black,  infernal  wine  from  grapes  that  grow  be- 
yond Lethe  ? 

Mounting  for  a  short  distance,  this  new  avenue  suddenly 
turned  to  the  left,  widened,  and  became  level ;  the  ceiling 
is  low,  but  beautifully  vaulted,  and  Washington's  Hall, 
which  we  soon  reached,  is  circular,  and  upwards  of  a  hun- 
dred feet  in  diameter.  This  is  the  usual  dining-room  of 
parties  who  go  beyond  the  rivers.  Nearly  five  hours  had 
now  elapsed  since  we  entered  the  cave,  and  five  hours  spent 
in  that  bracing,  stimulating  atmosphere  might  well  justify 
the  longing  glances  which  we  cast  upon  the  baskets  carried 


THE   MAMMOTH  CAVE  289 

by  the  guides.  Mr.  Miller  had  foreseen  our  appetites,  and 
there  were  stores  of  venison,  biscuit,  ham,  and  pastry,  more 
than  sufficient  for  all.  We  made  our  midday,  or  rather 
midnight  meal  sitting,  like  the  nymph  who  wrought  Ex- 
calibur 

"  Upon  the  hidden  bases  of  the  hills," 

buried  far  below  the  green  Kentucky  forests,  far  below  the 
forgotten  sunshine.  For  in  the  cave  you  forget  that  there 
is  an  outer  world  somewhere  above  you.  The  hours  have 
no  meaning :  Time  ceases  to  be ;  no  thought  of  labour, 
no  sense  of  responsibility,  no  twinge  of  conscience  intrudes 
to  suggest  the  existence  you  have  left.  You  walk  in  some 
limbo  beyond  the  confines  of  actual  life,  yet  no  nearer  the 
world  of  spirits.  For  my  part,  I  could  not  shake  off  the 
impression  that  I  was  wandering  on  the  outside  of  Uranus 
or  Neptune,  or  some  planet  still  more  deeply  buried  in  the 
frontier  darkness  of  our  solar  system. 

Washington  Hall  marks  the  commencement  of  Elindo 
Avenue,  a  straight  hall  about  sixty  feet  wide,  twenty  in 
height,  and  two  miles  long.  It  is  completely  encrusted  from 
end  to  end  with  crystallizations  of  gypsum,  white  as  snow. 
This  is  the  crowning  marvel  of  the  cave,  the  pride  and  the 
boast  of  the  guides.  Their  satisfaction  is  no  less  than 
yours,  as  they  lead  you  through  the  diamond  grottoes,  the 
gardens  of  sparry  efflorescence,  and  the  gleaming  vaults  of 
this  magical  avenue.  We  first  entered  the  "  Snow-ball 
Room,"  where  the  gnome-children  in  their  sports  have 
peppered  the  grey  walls  and  ceiling  with  thousands  of  snow- 


2QO  THE   MAMMOTH    CAVE 

white  projecting  discs,  so  perfect  in  their  fragile  beauty, 
that  they  seem  ready  to  melt  away  under  the  blaze  of  your 
lamp.  Then  commences  Cleveland's  Cabinet,  a  gallery  of 
crystals,  the  richness  and  variety  of  which  bewilder  you. 
It  is  a  subterranean  conservatory,  filled  with  the  flowers  of 
all  the  zones ;  for  there  are  few  blossoms  expanding  on  the 
upper  earth  but  are  mimicked  in  these  gardens  of  Darkness. 
I  cannot  lead  you  from  niche  to  niche,  and  from  room  to 
room,  examining  in  detail  the  enchanted  growths ;  they  are 
all  so  rich  and  so  wonderful  that  the  memory  does  not  at- 
tempt to  retain  them.  Sometimes  the  hard  limestone  rock 
is  changed  into  a  pasture  of  white  roses;  sometimes  it  is 
starred  with  opening  daisies;  the  sunflowers  spread  their 
flat  discs  and  rayed  leaves  ;  the  feathery  chalices  of  the 
cactus  hang  from  the  clefts ;  the  night-blooming  cereus 
opens  securely  her  snowy  cup,  for  the  morning  never  comes 
to  close  it;  the  tulip  is  here  a  virgin,  and  knows  not  that 
her  sisters  above  are  clothed  in  the  scarlet  of  shame. 

In  many  places  the  ceiling  is  covered  with  a  mammary 
crystallization,  as  if  a  myriad  bubbles  were  rising  beneath  its 
glittering  surface.  Even  on  this  jewelled  soil  which 
sparkles  all  around  you,  grow  the  lilies  and  roses,  singly 
overhead,  but  clustering  together  towards  the  base  of  the 
vault,  where  they  give  place  to  long,  snowy,  pendulous 
cactus-flowers,  which  droop  like  a  fringe  around  diamonded 
niches.  Here  you  see  the  passion-flower,  with  its  curiously 
curved  pistils ;  there  an  iris  with  its  lanceolate  leaves ;  and 
again,  bunches  of  celery  with  stalks  white  and  tender 
enough  for  a  fairy's  dinner.  There  are  occasional  patches 


THE   MAMMOTH   CAVE  291 

of  gypsum,  tinged  of  a  deep  amber  colour  by  the  presence 
of  iron.  Through  the  whole  length  of  the  avenue  there  is 
no  cessation  of  the  wondrous  work.  The  pale  rock- 
blooms  burst  forth  everywhere,  crowding  on  each  other 
until  the  brittle  sprays  cannot  bear  their  weight,  and  they 
fall  to  the  floor.  The  slow,  silent  efflorescence  still  goes 
on,  as  it  has  done  for  ages  in  that  buried  tropic. 

What  mostly  struck  me  in  my  underground  travels  was 
the  evidence  of  design  which  I  found  everywhere.  Why 
should  the  forms  of  the  earth's  outer  crust,  her  flowers  and 
fruits,  the  very  heaven  itself  which  spans  her,  be  so  won- 
derfully reproduced  ?  What  laws  shape  the  blossoms  and 
the  foliage  of  that  vast  crystalline  garden  ?  There  seemed 
to  be  something  more  than  the  accidental  combinations  of 
a  blind  chance  in  what  I  saw — some  evidence  of  an  in- 
forming and  directing  Will.  In  the  secret  caverns,  the 
agencies  which  produced  their  wonders  have  been  at  work 
for  thousands  of  years,  perhaps  thousands  of  ages,  fashion- 
ing the  sparry  splendours  in  the  womb  of  darkness  with  as 
exquisite  a  grace,  as  true  an  instinct  of  beauty  as  in  the 
palm  or  the  lily,  which  are  moulded  by  the  hands  of  the 
sun.  What  power  is  it  which  lies  behind  the  mere 
chemistry  of  Nature,  impregnating  her  atoms  with  such 
subtle  laws  of  symmetry  ?  What  but  Divine  Will,  which 
first  gave  her  being,  and  which  is  never  weary  of  multi- 
plying for  man  the  lessons  of  His  infinite  wisdom  ? 

At  the  end  of  Elindo  Avenue  the  floor  sinks,  then  as- 
cends, and  is  at  last  blocked  up  by  a  huge  pile  of  large, 
loose  rocks.  When  we  had  reached  the  foot,  the  roof  of 


292  THE   MAMMOTH   CAVE 

the  avenue  suddenly  lifted  and  expanded,  and  the  summit 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  as  they  are  called,  leaned  against 
a  void  waste  of  darkness.  We  climbed  to  the  summit, 
about  a  hundred  feet  above,  whence  we  looked  down  into 
an  awful  gulf,  spanned  far  above  our  heads  by  a  hollow 
dome  of  rock.  The  form  of  this  gigantic  hall  was  nearly 
elliptical.  It  was  probably  150  feet  in  height,  by  500  in 
length,  the  ends  terminating  near  the  roof  in  the  cavernous 
mouths  of  other  avenues.  The  guides  partly  descended 
the  hill  and  there  kindled  a  brilliant  Bengal  light,  which 
disclosed  more  clearly  the  form  of  the  hall,  but  I  thought  it 
more  impressive  as  its  stupendous  proportions  were  first 
dimly  revealed  by  the  light  of  our  lamps.  Stephen,  who 
discovered  this  place,  gave  it  the  name  of  the  Dismal 
Hollow. 

Scrambling  along  the  ridge  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  we 
gained  the  entrance  to  the  cavern  opening  on  the  left, 
which  we  followed  for  about  two  hundred  yards,  when  it 
terminated  in  a  lofty  circular  dome,  called  Crogan's  Hall. 
The  floor  on  one  side  dropped  suddenly  into  a  deep  pit, 
around  which  were  several  cushions  of  stalagmite,  answer- 
ing to  short  stalactites,  hanging  from  the  ceiling  far  above. 
At  the  extremity  of  the  hall  was  a  sort  of  recess,  formed 
by  stalactitic  pillars.  The  wall  behind  it  was  a  mass  of 
veined  alabaster.  "  Here,"  said  Stephen,  "  is  your  Ultima 
Thule.  This  is  the  end  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  nine 
miles  from  daylight."  But  I  doubt  whether  there  is  really 
an  end  of  the  cave  any  more  than  an  end  of  the  earth. 
Notwithstanding  the  ground  we  had  traversed,  we  had  left 


THE   MAMMOTH   CAVE  293 

many  vast  avenues  unexplored,  and  a  careful  search  would 
no  doubt  lead  to  further  discoveries. 

We  retraced  our  steps  slowly  along  Elindo  Avenue, 
stopping  every  few  minutes  to  take  a  last  look  at  the 
bowers  of  fairy  blossoms.  After  reaching  Washington's 
Hall  we  noticed  that  the  air  was  no  longer  still,  but  was 
flowing  fresh  and  cool  in  our  faces.  Stephen  observed  it 
also,  and  said  :  "  There  has  been  a  heavy  rain  outside." 
Entering  the  pass  of  El  Ghor  again  at  Martha's  Vineyard, 
we  walked  rapidly  forward,  without  making  a  halt,  to  its 
termination  at  Silliman's  Avenue.  The  distance  is 
reckoned  by  the  guides  at  a  little  more  than  a  mile  and  a 
half,  and  we  were  just  forty  minutes  in  walking  it.  We 
several  times  felt  fatigue,  especially  when  passing  the 
rougher  parts  of  the  cave,  but  the  sensation  always  passed 
away  in  some  unaccountable  manner,  leaving  us  fresh  and 
buoyant.  The  crossing  of  the  rivers  was  accomplished 
with  some  labour,  but  without  accident.  I  accompanied 
Stephen  on  his  return  through  the  second  arch  of  Echo 
River.  As  I  sat  alone  in  the  silent,  transparent  darkness 
of  the  mysterious  stream,  I  could  hear  the  tones  of  my 
boatman's  voice  gliding  down  the  caverns  like  a  wave, 
flowing  more  and  more  faintly  until  its  vibrations  were  too 
weak  to  move  the  ear.  Thus,  as  he  sang,  there  were  fre- 
quently three  or  four  notes,  each  distinctly  audible,  floating 
away  at  different  degrees  of  remoteness.  At  the  last  arch 
there  was  only  a  space  of  eighteen  inches  between  the 
water  and  the  rock.  We  lay  down  on  our  backs  in  the 
muddy  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  squeezed  through  to  the 


294  THE  MAMMOTH   CAVE 

middle  branch  of  Echo  River,  where  we  found  the  rest  of 
the  party,  who  had  gone  round  through  Purgatory. 

After  again  threading  Fat  Man's  Misery,  passing  the 
Bottomless  Pit  and  the  Deserted  Chambers,  we  at  last 
emerged  into  the  Main  Avenue  at  the  Giant's  Coffin.  It 
was  six  o'clock,  and  we  had  been  ten  hours  in  the  cave. 

When  we  heard  the  tinkling  drops  of  the  little  cascade 
over  the  entrance,  I  looked  up  and  saw  a  patch  of  deep, 
tender  blue  set  in  the  darkness.  In  the  midst  of  it 
twinkled  a  white  star — whiter  and  more  dazzling  than  any 
star  I  ever  saw  before.  I  paused  and  drank  at  the  trough 
under  the  waterfall,  for,  like  the  Fountain  of  Trevi  at 
Rome,  it  may  be  that  those  who  drink  there  shall  return 
again.  When  we  ascended  to  the  level  of  the  upper  world 
we  found  that  a  fierce  tornado  had  passed  along  during  the 
day ;  trees  had  been  torn  up  by  the  roots  and  hurled  down 
in  all  directions ;  stunning  thunders  had  jarred  the  air,  and 
the  wet  earth  was  fairly  paved  with  leaves  cut  off  by  the 
heavy  hail — yet  we,  buried  in  the  heart  of  the  hills,  had 
heard  no  sound,  nor  felt  the  slightest  tremour  in  the  air. 

The  stars  were  all  in  their  places  as  I  walked  back  to 
the  hotel.  I  had  been  twelve  hours  under  ground,  in 
which  I  had  walked  about  twenty-four  miles.  I  had  lost  a 
day — a  day  with  its  joyous  morning,  its  fervid  noon,  its 
tempest,  and  its  angry  sunset  of  crimson  and  gold;  but  I 
had  gained  an  age  in  a  strange  and  hitherto  unknown  world 
— an  age  of  wonderful  experience,  and  an  exhaustless  store 
of  sublime  and  lovely  memories. 

At  Home  and  Abroad  (New  York,  1864). 


STROMBOLI 

ALEXANDER  DUMAS 

AS  we  advanced,  Stromboli  became  more  and  more 
distinct  every  moment,  and  through  the  clear 
evening  air  we  could  perceive  every  detail;  this  mountain  is 
formed  exactly  like  a  hay-mow,  its  summit  being  sur- 
mounted by  a  peak  j  it  is  from  this  summit  that  the  smoke 
escapes,  and,  at  intervals  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  a  flame  ; 
during  the  daytime  this  flame  does  not  apparently  exist, 
being  lost  in  the  light  of  the  sun ;  but  when  evening 
comes,  and  the  Orient  begins  to  darken,  this  flame  be- 
comes visible  and  you  can  see  it  dart  forth  from  the 
midst  of  the  smoke  which  it  colours,  and  fall  again  in  jets 
of  lava. 

Towards  seven  o'clock  we  reached  Stromboli ;  unfortu- 
nately the  port  is  in  the  east,  and  we  came  from  the  west ; 
so  that  we  had  to  coast  along  the  whole  length  of  the  island 
where  the  lava  descended  down  a  sharp  slope  into  the  sea. 
For  a  breadth  of  twenty  paces  at  its  summit  and  a  hundred 
and  fifty  at  its  base,  the  mountain  at  this  point  is  covered 
with  cinders  and  all  vegetation  is  burned. 

The  captain  was  correct  in  his  predictions  :  we  arrived 
half  an  hour  after  the  port  had  been  closed  ;  all  we  could 
say  to  make  them  open  to  us  was  lost  eloquence. 


296  STROMBOLI 

However,  the  entire  population  of  Stromboli  had  run  to 
the  shore.  Our  Speronare  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  this 
harbour  and  our  sailors  were  well  known  in  the  island. 
...  It  was  in  Stromboli  that  ^Eolus  held  bound  the 
luctantes  ventos  tempestatesque  sonoras.  Without  doubt,  at 
the  time  of  the  song  of  ^Eneas,  and  when  Stromboli  was 
called  Strongyle,  the  island  was  not  known  for  what  it 
really  is,  and  hid  within  its  depths  the  boiling  masses  and 
periodical  ejaculations  which  make  this  volcano  the  most 
obliging  one  in  the  world.  In  sooth,  you  know  what  to 
expect  from  Stromboli :  it  is  not  like  Vesuvius  or  Etna, 
which  make  the  traveller  wait  sometimes  three,  five  or 
even  ten  years  for  a  poor  little  eruption.  I  have  been  told 
that  this  is  doubtless  owing  to  the  position  they  hold  in  the 
hierarchy  of  fire-vomiting  mountains,  a  hierarchy  that  per- 
mits them  to  be  aristocratic  at  their  own  pleasure :  this  is 
true  enough ;  and  we  must  not  take  it  amiss  if  Stromboli 
allows  her  social  position  to  be  assailed  an  instant,  and  to 
have  understood  that  it  is  only  a  little  toy  volcano  to  which 
.  one  would  not  pay  the  slightest  attention  if  it  made  itself  so 
ridiculous  as  to  put  on  airs. 

Moreover,  it  did  not  keep  us  waiting.  After  scarcely 
five  minutes'  expectation,  a  heavy  rumbling  was  heard,  a 
detonation  resembling  twenty  cannon  fired  in  succession, 
and  a  long  jet  of  flame  leaped  into  the  air  and  fell  again  in 
a  shower  of  lava ;  a  part  of  this  shower  fell  again  into  the 
crater  of  the  volcano,  while  the  other,  rolling  down  the 
slope  hurried  like  a  brooklet  of  flame  to  extinguish  itself, 
hissing,  into  the  sea.  Ten  minutes  later  the  same  phenom- 


STROMBOLI  297 

enon  was  repeated,  and  at  every  succeeding  ten  minutes 
throughout  the  night. 

I  admit  that  this  was  one  of  the  most  curious  nights  I 
ever  spent  in  my  life ;  neither  Jadin  nor  I  could  tear  our- 
selves away  from  this  terrible  and  magnificent  spectacle. 
There  were  such  detonations  that  the  very  atmosphere 
seemed  excited,  and  you  imagined  the  whole  island  trem- 
bling like  a  frightened  child ;  it  was  only  Milord  that  these 
fire-works  put  into  a  state  of  exaltation  impossible  to  de- 
scribe; he  wanted  to  jump  into  the  water  every  moment  to 
devour  the  burning  lava  which  sometimes  fell  ten  feet 
from  us,  like  a  meteor  precipitating  itself  into  the  sea. 

As  for  our  boatswain,  he  was  so  accustomed  to  this 
spectacle,  that,  after  asking  if  we  needed  anything  and  upon 
our  reply  in  the  negative,  he  retired  between  decks  and 
neither  the  lightnings  that  illuminated  the  air  nor  the  thun- 
ders that  shook  it  had  power  to  disturb  his  slumbers. 

We  stayed  here  until  two  o'clock;  finally,  overcome 
with  fatigue  and  sleep,  we  decided  to  retire  to  our  cabin. 
As  for  Milord,  nothing  would  persuade  him  to  do  as  we 
did  and  he  stayed  all  night  on  deck,  growling  and  barking 
at  the  volcano. 

We  woke  in  the  morning  at  the  first  movement  of  the 
Speronare.  With  the  return  of  daylight  the  mountain  lost 
all  its  fantastic  appearance. 

We  constantly  heard  the  detonations  ;  but  the  flame  had 
become  invisible  ;  and  that  burning  lava  stream  of  the  night 
was  confused  in  the  day  with  the  reddish  ashes  over  which 
it  rolls. 


298  STROMBOLI 

Ten  minutes  more  and  we  were  again  in  port.  This 
time  we  had  no  difficulty  in  entering.  Pietro  and  Giovanni 
got  off  with  us;  they  wished  to  accompany  us  on  our 
ascent. 

We  entered,  not  an  inn  (there  are  none  in  Stromboli), 
but  a  house  whose  proprietors  were  related  to  our  captain. 
As  it  would  not  have  been  prudent  to  have  started  on  our 
way  fasting,  Giovanni  asked  permission  of  our  hosts  to 
make  breakfast  for  us  while  Pietro  went  to  hunt  for  guides, 
— a  permission  not  only  accorded  to  us  with  much  grace 
but  our  host  also  went  out  and  came  back  in  a  few  mo- 
ments with  the  most  beautiful  grapes  and  figs  that  he  could 
find. 

After  we  had  finished  our  breakfast,  Pietro  arrived  with 
two  Stromboliotes  who  consented,  in  consideration  of  half  a 
piastre  each,  to  serve  as  guides.  It  was  already  nearly 
eight  o'clock :  to  avoid  a  climb  in  the  greatest  heat  of  the 
day,  we  started  off"  immediately. 

The  top  of  Stromboli  is  only  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea ;  but  its  slope  is  so  sharp 
that  you  cannot  climb  in  a  direct  manner,  but  must  zigzag 
eternally.  At  first,  on  leaving  the  village,  the  road  was 
easy  enough;  it  rose  in  the  midst  of  those  vines  laden  with 
grapes  that  make  the  commerce  of  the  island  and  from 
which  the  fruit  hangs  in  such  great  quantity  that  any  one 
may  help  himself  to  all  he  wants  without  asking  the  per- 
mission of  the  owner;  however,  upon  leaving  the  region  of 
the  vineyards,  we  found  no  more  roads,  and  we  had  to  walk 
at  random,  looking  for  the  best  ground  and  the  easiest 


STROMBOLI  299 

slopes.  Despite  all  these  precautions,  there  came  a  moment 
when  we  were  obliged  to  scramble  on  all  fours :  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  climb  up ;  but  this  place  once  passed,  I 
vow  that  on  turning  around  and  seeing  it,  jutting  almost 
perpendicularly  over  the  sea,  I  asked  in  terror  how  we 
could  ever  descend ;  our  guides  then  said  that  we  would 
come  down  by  another  road :  that  pacified  me  a  little. 
Those  who  like  myself  are  unhappy  enough  to  have  vertigo 
when  they  see  a  chasm  below  their  feet  will  understand  my 
question  and  still  more  the  importance  I  attached  to  it. 

This  break-neck  spot  passed,  the  ascent  became  easier 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  but  soon  we  came  to  a  place 
which  at  the  first  glance  seemed  impassable ;  it  was  a  per- 
fectly sharp-pointed  angle  that  formed  the  opening  of  the 
first  volcano,  and  part  of  which  was  cut  out  perpendicularly 
upon  the  crater  while  the  other  fell  with  so  sharp  a  slope  to 
the  sea  that  it  seemed  to  me  if  I  should  fall  perpendicularly 
on  the  other  side  I  could  not  help  rolling  from  top  to  bottom. 
Even  Jadin,  who  ordinarily  climbs  like  a  chamois  without 
ever  troubling  about  the  difficulties  of  the  ground,  stopped 
short  when  we  came  to  this  passage,  asking  if  there  was  not 
some  way  to  avoid  it.  As  you  may  imagine,  this  was  im- 
possible. 

The  crater  of  Stromboli  is  formed  like  a  vast  funnel, 
from  the  bottom  and  the  centre  of  which  is  an  opening 
through  which  a  man  can  enter  a  little  way,  and  which 
communicates  with  the  internal  furnace  of  the  mountain; 
it  is  through  this  opening,  resembling  the  mouth  of  a  canon, 
that  the  shower  of  projectiles  darts  forth,  which,  falling 


300  STROMBOLI 

again  into  the  crater,  sweeps  with  it  down  the  inclined  slope 
of  stones  the  cinders  and  lava  that,  rolling  to  the  bottom, 
block  up  that  funnel.  Then  the  volcano  seems  to  gather 
its  forces  together  for  several  minutes,  compressed  as  it  is 
by  the  stoppage  of  its  valve ;  but  after  a  moment  its  smoke 
trembles  like  a  breath ;  you  hear  a  deep  roaring  run 
through  the  hollow  sides  of  the  mountain ;  then  the  can- 
nonade bursts  forth  again,  throwing  up  two  hundred  feet 
above  the  summit  new  stones  and  new  lava,  which,  falling 
back  and  closing  the  orifice  of  the  passage  anew,  prepare 
for  a  new  outburst. 

Seen  from  where  we  were,  that  is  from  top  to  bottom, 
this  spectacle  was  superb  and  terrifying ;  at  each  internal 
convulsion  that  the  mountain  essayed,  you  felt  it  tremble 
beneath  you,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  burst  asunder ; 
then  came  the  explosion,  similar  to  a  gigantic  tree  of  flame 
and  smoke  that  shook  its  leaves  of  lava. 

Finally,  we  reached  the  extremity  of  this  new  lake  of 
Sodom,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  an  oasis  of  vines,  pome- 
granates and  olives.  We  had  not  the  courage  to  go  any 
farther.  We  lay  down  in  the  grass,  and  our  guides  brought 
us  an  armful  of  grapes  and  a  hatful  of  figs. 

It  was  marvellous  to  us ;  but  there  was  not  the  smallest 
drop  of  water  for  our  poor  Milord  to  drink,  and  we  per- 
ceived him  devouring  the  skin  of  the  figs  and  grapes.  We 
gave  him  part  of  our  repast,  and  for  the  first,  and  probably 
for  the  last,  time  in  his  life  he  dined  off  figs  and  grapes. 

I  have  often  a  desire  to  put  myself  in  the  place  of  Milord 
and  write  his  memoirs  as  Hoffmann  wrote  those  of  his  cat, 


STROMBOLI  301 

Murr.  I  am  convinced  that  he  must  have  had,  seen  from 
the  canine  point  of  view,  (I  beg  the  Academic's  pardon  for 
the  expression)  extremely  new  impressions  of  the  people 
and  countries  that  he  has  visited. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  this  halt  we  were  in  the  vil- 
lage, writing  upon  our  tablets  this  judicious  observation — 
that  the  volcanoes  follow  but  do  not  resemble  each  other : 
we  were  nearly  frozen  when  ascending  Etna,  and  we  were 
nearly  roasted  when  descending  Stromboli. 

Jadin  and  I  each  extended  a  hand  towards  the  mountain 
and  swore  that  notwithstanding  Vesuvius,  Stromboli  was 
the  last  volcano  whose  acquaintance  we  would  make. 

Le  Capitaine  Arena:  Impressions  de  Voyage  (Paris,  1836). 


THE  HIGH  WOODS 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

IN  the  primeval  forest,  looking  upon  that  which  my 
teachers  and  masters,  Humboldt,  Spix,  Martius, 
Schomburgk,  Waterton,  Bates,  Wallace,  Gosse,  and  the 
rest,  had  looked  already,  with  far  wiser  eyes  than  mine, 
comprehending  somewhat  at  least  of  its  wonders,  while  I  could 
only  stare  in  ignorance.  There  was  actually,  then,  such  a 
sight  to  be  seen  on  earth  ;  and  it  was  not  less,  but  far  more 
wonderful  than  they  had  said. 

My  first  feeling  on  entering  the  high  woods  was  help- 
lessness, confusion,  awe,  all  but  terror.  One  is  afraid  at 
first  to  venture  in  fifty  yards.  Without  a  compass  or  the 
landmark  of  some  opening  to  or  from  which  he  can  look,  a 
man  must  be  lost  in  the  first  ten  minutes,  such  a  sameness 
is  there  in  the  infinite  variety.  That  sameness  and  variety 
make  it  impossible  to  give  any  general  sketch  of  a  forest. 
Once  inside,  "you  cannot  see  the  woods  for  the  trees." 
You  can  only  wander  on  as  far  as  you  dare,  letting  each 
object  impress  itself  on  your  mind  as  it  may,  and  carrying 
away  a  confused  recollection  of  innumerable  perpendicular 
lines,  all  straining  upwards,  in  fierce  competition,  towards 
the  light-food  far  above ;  and  next  on  a  green  cloud,  or 
rather  mist,  which  hovers  round  your  head,  and  rises,  thick- 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  303 

ening  and  thickening  to  an  unknown  height.  The  upward 
lines  are  of  every  possible  thickness,  and  of  almost  every 
possible  hue ;  what  leaves  they  bear,  being  for  most  part  on 
the  tips  of  the  twigs,  give  a  scattered,  mist-like  appearance 
to  the  under-foliage.  For  the  first  moment,  therefore,  the 
forest  seems  more  open  than  an  English  wood.  But  try  to 
walk  through  it,  and  ten  steps  undeceive  you.  Around 
your  knees  are  probably  Mamures,  with  creeping  stems  and 
fan-shaped  leaves,  something  like  those  of  a  young  cocoa- 
nut  palm.  You  try  to  brush  among  them,  and  are  caught 
up  instantly  by  a  string  or  wire  belonging  to  some  other 
plant.  You  look  up  and  round  :  and  then  you  find  that  the 
air  is  full  of  wires — that  you  are  hung  up  in  a  network  of 
fine  branches  belonging  to  half-a-dozen  different  sorts  of 
young  trees,  and  intertwined  with  as  many  different  species 
of  slender  creepers.  You  thought  at  your  first  glance 
among  the  tree-stems  that  you  were  looking  through  open 
air ;  you  find  that  you  are  looking  through  a  labyrinth  of 
wire-rigging,  and  must  use  the  cutlass  right  and  left  at  every 
five  steps.  You  push  on  into  a  bed  of  strong  sedge-like 
Sclerias,  with  cutting  edges  to  their  leaves.  It  is  well  for 
you  if  they  are  only  three,  and  not  six  feet  high.  In  the 
midst  of  them  you  run  against  a  horizontal  stick,  triangular, 
rounded,  smooth,  green.  You  take  a  glance  along  it  right 
and  left,  and  see  no  end  to  it  either  way,  but  gradually  dis- 
cover that  it  is  the  leaf-stalk  of  a  young  Cocorite  palm. 
The  leaf  is  five-and-twenty  feet  long,  and  springs  from  a 
huge  ostrich  plume,  which  is  sprawling  out  of  the  ground 
and  up  above  your  head  a  few  yards  off.  You  cut  the  leaf- 


304  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

stalk  through  right  and  left,  and  walk  on,  to  be  stopped  sud- 
denly (for  you  get  so  confused  by  the  multitude  of  objects 
that  you  never  see  anything  till  you  run  against  it)  by  a 
grey  lichen-covered  bar,  as  thick  as  your  ankle.  You  fol- 
low it  up  with  your  eye,  and  find  it  entwine  itself  with 
three  or  four  other  bars,  and  roll  over  with  them  in  great 
knots  and  festoons  and  loops  twenty  feet  high,  and  then  go 
up  with  them  into  the  green  cloud  over  your  head,  and  van- 
ish, as  if  a  giant  had  thrown  a  ship's  cable  into  the  tree-tops. 
One  of  them,  so  grand  that  its  form  strikes  even  the  Negro 
and  the  Indian,  is  a  Liantasse.  You  see  that  at  once  by  the 
form  of  its  cable — six  or  eight  inches  across  in  one  direction, 
and  three  or  four  in  another,  furbelowed  ail  down  the  mid- 
dle into  regular  knots,  and  looking  like  a  chain  cable  be- 
tween two  flexible  iron  bars.  At  another  of  the  loops, 
about  as  thick  as  your  arm,  your  companion,  if  you  have  a 
forester  with  you,  will  spring  joyfully.  With  a  few  blows 
of  his  cutlass  he  will  sever  it  as  high  up  as  he  can  reach, 
and  again  below,  some  three  feet  down ;  and,  while  you  are 
wondering  at  this  seemingly  wanton  destruction,  he  lifts  the 
bar  on  high,  throws  his  head  back,  and  pours  down  his 
thirsty  throat  a  pint  or  more  of  pure  cold  water.  This  hid- 
den treasure  is,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  ascending  sap, 
or  rather  the  ascending  pure  rain-water  which  has  been 
taken  up  by  the  roots,  and  is  hurrying  aloft,  to  be  elabo- 
rated into  sap,  and  leaf,  and  flower,  and  fruit,  and  fresh  tis- 
sue for  the  very  stem  up  which  it  originally  climbed;  and 
therefore  it  is  that  the  woodman  cuts  the  Watervine  through 
first  at  the  top  of  the  piece  which  he  wants,  and  not  at  the 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  305 

bottom ;  for  so  rapid  is  the  ascent  of  the  sap  that  if  he  cut 
the  stem  below,  the  water  would  have  all  fled  upwards  be- 
fore he  could  cut  it  off  above.  Meanwhile,  the  old  story 
of  Jack  and  the  Bean-stalk  comes  int;oyour  mind.  In  such 
a  forest  was  the  old  dame's  hut;  and  up  such  a  bean-stalk 
Jack  climbed,  to  find  a  giant  and  a  castle  high  above.  Why 
not  ?  What  may  not  be  up  there  ?  You  look  up  into  the 
green  cloud,  and  long  for  a  moment  to  be  a  monkey.  There 
may  be  monkeys  up  there  over  your  head,  burly  red  Howler, 
or  tiny  peevish  Sapajou,  peering  down  at  you ;  but  you  can- 
not peer  up  at  them.  The  monkeys,  and  the  parrots,  and 
the  humming-birds,  and  the  flowers,  and  all  the  beauty,  are 
upstairs — up  above  the  green  cloud.  You  are  in  "  the 
empty  nave  of  the  cathedral,"  and  "  the  service  is  being 
celebrated  aloft  in  the  blazing  roof." 

We  will  hope  that  as  you  look  up,  you  have  not  been 
careless  enough  to  walk  on ;  for  if  you  have  you  will  be 
tripped  up  at  once :  nor  to  put  your  hand  out  incautiously 
to  rest  it  against  a  tree,  or  what  not,  for  fear  of  sharp 
thorns,  ants,  and  wasps'  nests.  If  you  are  all  safe,  your 
next  steps,  probably,  as  you  struggle  through  the  bush  be- 
tween the  tree-trunks  of  every  possible  size,  will  bring  you 
face  to  face  with  huge  upright  walls  of  seeming  boards, 
whose  rounded  edges  slope  upward  till,  as  your  eye  follows 
them,  you  will  find  them  enter  an  enormous  stem,  perhaps 
round,  like  one  of  the  Norman  pillars  of  Durham  nave,  and 
just  as  huge ;  perhaps  fluted,  like  one  of  William  of 
Wykeham's  columns  at  Winchester.  There  is  the  stem  : 
but  where  is  the  tree  ?  Above  the  green  cloud.  You 


306  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

struggle  up  to  it,  between  two  of  the  broad  walls,  but  find 
it  not  so  easy  to  reach.  Between  you  and  it,  are  a  half-a- 
dozen  tough  strings  which  you  had  not  noticed  at  first — the 
eye  cannot  focus  itself  rapidly  enough  in  this  confusion  of 
distances — which  have  to  be  cut  through  ere  you  can  pass. 
Some  of  them  are  rooted  in  the  ground,  straight  and  tense ; 
some  of  them  dangle  and  wave  in  the  wind  at  every  height. 
What  are  they  ?  Air-roots  of  wild  Pines,  or  of  Matapalos, 
or  of  Figs,  or  of  Seguines,  or  of  some  other  parasite  ? 
Probably  :  but  you  cannot  see.  All  you  can  see  is,  as  you 
put  your  chin  close  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree  and  look 
up,  as  if  you  were  looking  up  against  the  side  of  a  great 
ship  set  on  end,  that  some  sixty  or  eighty  feet  up  in  the 
green  cloud,  arms  as  big  as  English  forest  trees  branch  off; 
and  that  out  of  their  forks  a  whole  green  garden  of  vegeta- 
tion has  tumbled  down  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  and  half 
climbed  up  again.  You  scramble  round  the  tree  to  find 
whence  this  aerial  garden  has  sprung :  you  cannot  tell. 
The  tree-trunk  is  smooth  and  free  from  climbers ;  and 
that  mass  of  verdure  may  belong  possibly  to  the  very  cables 
which  you  meet  ascending  into  the  green  cloud  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  back,  or  to  that  impenetrable  tangle,  a  dozen 
yards  on,  which  has  climbed  a  small  tree,  and  then  a  taller 
one  again,  and  then  a  taller  still,  till  it  has  climbed  out  of 
sight  and  possibly  into  the  lower  branches  of  the  big  tree. 
And  what  are  their  species  ?  What  are  their  families  ? 
Who  knows  ?  Not  even  the  most  experienced  woodman 
or  botanist  can  tell  you  the  names  of  plants  of  which  he 
only  sees  the  stems.  The  leaves,  the  flowers,  the  fruit,  can 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  307 

only  be  examined  by  felling  the  tree ;  and  not  even  always 
then,  for  sometimes  the  tree  when  cut  refuses  to  fall,  linked 
as  it  is  by  chains  of  liane  to  all  the  trees  around.  Even 
that  wonderful  water-vine  which  we  cut  through  just  now 
may  be  one  of  three  or  even  four  different  plants. 

Soon,  you  will  be  struck  by  the  variety  of  the  vegeta- 
tion ;  and  will  recollect  what  you  have  often  heard,  that 
social  plants  are  rare  in  the  tropic  forests.  Certainly  they 
are  in  the  Trinidad ;  where  the  only  instances  of  social 
trees  are  the  Moras  (which  I  have  never  seen  growing 
wild)  and  the  Moriche  palms.  In  Europe,  a  forest  is  usu- 
ally made  up  of  one  dominant  plant  of  firs  or  of  pines,  of 
oaks  or  of  beeches,  of  birch  or  of  heather.  Here  no  two 
plants  seem  alike.  There  are  more  species  on  an  acre  here 
than  in  all  the  New  Forest,  Savernake,  or  Sherwood. 
Stems  rough,  smooth,  prickly,  round,  fluted,  stilted,  upright, 
sloping,  branched,  arched,  jointed,  opposite-leaved,  alter- 
nate-leaved, leafless,  or  covered  with  leaves  of  every  con- 
ceivable pattern,  are  jumbled  together,  till  the  eye  and 
brain  are  tired  of  continually  asking  "  What  next  ?  "  The 
stems  are  of  every  colour — copper,  pink,  grey,  green, 
brown,  black  as  if  burnt,  marbled  with  lichens,  many  of 
them  silvery  white,  gleaming  afar  in  the  bush,  furred  with 
mosses  and  delicate  creeping  film-ferns,  or  laced  with  air- 
roots  of  some  parasite  aloft.  Up  this  stem  scrambles  a 
climbing  Seguine  with  entire  leaves ;  up  the  next  another 
quite  different,  with  deeply-cut  leaves ;  up  the  next  the 
Ceriman  spreads  its  huge  leaves,  latticed  and  forked  again 
and  again.  So  fast  do  they  grow,  that  they  have  not  time 


308  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

to  fill  up  the  spaces  between  their  nerves,  and  are  conse- 
quently full  of  oval  holes ;  and  so  fast  does  its  spadix  of 
flowers  expand,  that  (as  do  some  other  Aroids)  an  actual 
genial  heat,  and  fire  of  passion,  which  may  be  tested  by  the 
thermometer,  or  even  by  the  hand,  is  given  off  during 
fructification.  Beware  of  breaking  it,  or  the  Seguines. 
They  will  probably  give  off  an  evil  smell,  and  as  probably 
a  blistering  milk.  Look  on  at  the  next  stem.  Up  it,  and 
down  again,  a  climbing  fern  which  is  often  seen  in  hot- 
houses has  tangled  its  finely-cut  fronds.  Up  the  next,  a 
quite  different  fern  is  crawling,  by  pressing  tightly  to  the 
rough  bark  its  creeping  root-stalks,  furred  like  a  hare's  leg. 
Up  the  next,  the  prim  little  GrifFe-chatte  plant  has 
walked,  by  numberless  clusters  of  small  cats'-claws,  which 
lay  hold  of  the  bark.  And  what  is  this  delicious  scent 
about  the  air  ?  Vanille  ?  Of  course  it  is ;  and  up  that 
stem  zigzags  the  green  fleshy  chain  of  the  Vanille  Orchis. 
The  scented  pod  is  far  above,  out  of  your  reach ;  but  not 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  next  parrot,  or  monkey,  or  Negro 
hunter,  who  winds  the  treasure.  And  the  stems  themselves : 
to  what  trees  do  they  belong  ?  It  would  be  absurd  for 
one  to  try  to  tell  you  who  cannot  tell  one-twentieth  of 
them  himself.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  over  your  head  are 
perhaps  a  dozen  kinds  of  admirable  timber,  which  might  be 
turned  to  a  hundred  uses  in  Europe,  were  it  possible  to  get 
them  thither:  your  guide  (who  here  will  be  a  second  hos- 
pitable and  cultivated  Scot)  will  point  with  pride  to  one 
column  after  another,  straight  as  those  of  a  cathedral,  and 
sixty  to  eighty  feet  without  branch  or  knob.  That,  he  will 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  309 

say,  is  Fiddlewood;  that  a  Carapo,  that  a  Cedar,  that  a 
Roble  (oak);  that,  larger  than  all  you  have  seen  yet,  a 
Locust ;  that,  a  Poui ;  that,  a  Guatecare  ;  that  an  Olivier, 
woods  which,  he  will  tell  you,  are  all  but  incorruptible,  de- 
fying weather  and  insects.  He  will  show  you,  as  curiosi- 
ties, the  smaller  but  intensely  hard  Letter  wood,  Lignum 
vitae,  and  Purple  heart.  He  will  pass  by  as  useless  weeds, 
Ceibas  and  Sandbox-trees,  whose  bulk  appalls  you.  He 
will  look  up,  with  something  like  a  malediction,  at  the 
Matapalos,  which,  every  fifty  yards,  have  seized  on  mighty 
trees,  and  are  enjoying,  I  presume,  every  different  stage  of 
the  strangling  art,  from  the  baby  Matapalo,  who,  like  one 
which  you  saw  in  the  Botanic  Garden,  has  let  down  his 
first  air-root  along  his  victim's  stem,  to  the  old  sinner 
whose  dark  crown  of  leaves  is  supported,  eighty  feet  in  air, 
on  innumerable  branching  columns  of  every  size,  cross- 
clasped  to  each  other  by  transverse  bars.  The  giant  tree 
on  which  his  seed  first  fell  has  rotted  away  utterly,  and  he 
stands  in  its  place,  prospering  in  his  wickedness,  like  certain 
folk  whom  David  knew  too  well.  Your  guide  walks  on 
with  a  sneer.  But  he  stops  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  as 
he  sees  lying  on  the  ground  dark  green  glossy  leaves,  which 
are  fading  into  a  bright  crimson ;  for  overhead  somewhere 
there  must  be  a  Balata,  the  king  of  the  forest ;  and  there, 
close  by,  is  his  stem — a  madder-brown  column,  whose 
head  may  be  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  or  more  aloft.  The 
forester  pats  the  side  of  his  favourite  tree,  as  a  breeder 
might  that  of  his  favourite  race-horse.  He  goes  on  to 
evince  his  affection,  in  the  fashion  of  West  Indians,  by 


310  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

giving  it  a  chop  with  his  cutlass  ;  but  not  in  wantonness. 
He  wishes  to  show  you  the  hidden  virtues,  of  this  (in  his 
eyes)  noblest  of  trees — how  there  issues  out  swiftly  from 
the  wound  a  flow  of  thick  white  milk,  which  will  congeal, 
in  an  hour's  time,  into  a  gum  intermediate  in  its  properties 
between  caoutchouc  and  gutta-percha.  He  talks  of  a  time 
when  the  English  gutta-percha  market  shall  be  supplied 
from  the  Balatas  of  the  northern  hills,  which  cannot  be 
shipped  away  as  timber.  He  tells  you  how  the  tree  is  a 
tree  of  a  generous,  virtuous  and  elaborate  race — "  a  tree  of 
God,  which  is  full  of  sap,"  as  one  said  of  old  of  such — and 
what  could  he  say  better,  less  or  more  ?  For  it  is  a  Sapota, 
cousin  to  the  Sapodilla,  and  other  excellent  fruit-trees, 
itself  most  excellent  even  in  its  fruit-bearing  power;  for 
every  five  years  it  is  covered  with  such  a  crop  of  delicious 
plums,  that  the  lazy  Negro  thinks  it  worth  his  while  to 
spend  days  of  hard  work,  besides  incurring  the  penalty  of 
the  law  (for  the  trees  are  Government  property),  in  cutting 
it  down  for  the  sake  of  its  fruit.  But  this  tree  your  guide 
will  cut  himself.  There  is  no  gully  between  it  and  the 
Government  station ;  and  he  can  carry  it  away ;  and  it  is 
worth  his  while  to  do  so;  for  it  will  square,  he  thinks,  into 
a  log  more  than  three  feet  in  diameter,  and  eighty,  ninety 
— he  hopes  almost  a  hundred — feet  in  length  of  hard,  heavy 
wood,  incorruptible,  save  in  salt  water ;  better  than  oak,  as 
good  as  teak,  and  only  surpassed  in  this  island  by  the  Poui. 
He  will  make  a  stage  round  it,  some  eight  feet  high,  and 
cut  it  above  the  spurs.  It  will  take  his  convict  gang  (for 
convicts  are  turned  to  some  real  use  in  Trinidad)  several 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  311 

days  to  get  it  down,  and  many  more  days  to  square  it  with 
the  axe.  A  trace  must  be  made  to  it  through  the  wood, 
clearing  away  vegetation  for  which  a  European  millionaire, 
could  he  keep  it  in  his  park,  would  gladly  pay  a  hundred 
pounds  a  yard.  The  cleared  stems,  especially  those  of  the 
palms,  must  be  cut  into  rollers ;  and  the  dragging  of  the 
huge  log  over  them  will  be  a  work  of  weeks,  especially  in 
the  wet  season.  But  it  can  be  done,  and  it  shall  be ;  so  he 
leaves  a  significant  mark  on  his  new-found  treasure,  and 
Jeads  you  on  through  the  bush,  hewing  his  way  with  light 
strokes  right  and  left,  so  carelessly  that  you  are  inclined  to 
beg  him  to  hold  his  hand,  and  not  destroy  in  a  moment 
things  so  beautiful,  so  curious,  things  which  would  be  in- 
valuable in  an  English  hothouse. 

And  where  are  the  famous  Orchids  ?  They  perch  on 
every  bough  and  stem ;  but  they  are  not,  with  three  or 
four  exceptions,  in  flower  in  the  winter;  and  if  they  were, 
I  know  nothing  about  them — at  least,  I  know  enough  to 
know  how .  little  I  know.  Whosoever  has  read  Darwin's 
Fertilization  of  Orchids^  and  finds  in  his  own  reason  that 
the  book  is  true,  had  best  say  nothing  about  the  beautiful 
monsters  till  he  has  seen  with  his  own  eyes  more  than  his 
master. 

And  yet  even  the  three  or  four  that  are  in  flower  are 
worth  going  many  a  mile  to  see.  In  the  hothouse,  they 
seem  almost  artificial  from  their  strangeness :  but  to  see 
them  "  natural,"  on  natural  boughs,  gives  a  sense  of  their 
reality,  which  no  unnatural  situation  can  give.  Even  to 
look  up  at  them  perched  on  bough  and  stem,  as  one  rides 


by ;  and  to  guess  what  exquisite  and  fantastic  form  may 
issue,  in  a  few  months  or  weeks,  out  of  those  fleshy,  often 
unsightly  leaves,  is  a  strange  pleasure  ;  a  spur  to  the  fancy 
which  is  surely  wholesome,  if  we  will  but  believe  that  all 
these  things  were  invented  by  A  Fancy,  which  desires  to 
call  out  in  us,  by  contemplating  them,  such  small  fancy  as 
we  possess  ;  and  to  make  us  poets,  each  according  to  this 
power,  by  showing  a  world  in  which,  if  rightly  looked  at, 
all  is  poetry. 

Another  fact  will  soon  force  itself  on  your  attention,  un- 
less you  wish  to  tumble  down  and  get  wet  up  to  your 
knees.  The  soil  is  furrowed  everywhere  by  holes ;  by 
graves,  some  two  or  three  feet  wide  and  deep,  and  of  uncer- 
tain length  and  shape,  often  wandering  about  for  thirty  or 
forty  feet,  and  running  confusedly  into  each  other.  They 
are  not  the  work  of  man,  nor  of  an  animal ;  for  no  earth 
seems  to  have  been  thrown  out  of  them.  In  the  bottom 
of  the  dry  graves  you  sometimes  see  a  decaying  root :  but 
most  of  them  just  now  are  full  of  water,  and  of  tiny  fish 
also,  who  burrow  in  the  mud  and  sleep  during  the  dry 
season,  to  come  out  and  swim  during  the  wet.  These 
graves  are  some  of  them,  plainly  quite  new.  Some,  again, 
are  very  old ;  for  trees  of  all  sizes  are  growing  in  them  and 
over  them. 

What  makes  them  ?  A  question  not  easily  answered. 
But  the  shrewdest  foresters  say  that  they  have  the  roots  of 
trees  now  dead.  Either  the  tree  has  fallen  and  torn  its 
roots  out  of  the  ground,  or  the  roots  and  stumps  have  rotted 
in  their  place,'  and  the  soil  above  them  has  fallen  in. 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  313 

But  they  must  decay  very  quickly,  these  roots,  to  leave 
their  quite  fresh  graves  thus  empty  ;  and — now  one  thinks  of 
it — how  few  fallen  trees,  or  even  dead  sticks,  there  are  about. 
An  English  wood,  if  left  to  itself,  would  be  cumbered  with 
fallen  timber ;  and  one  has  heard  of  forests  in  North  Amer- 
ica, through  which  it  is  all  but  impossible  to  make  way,  so 
high  are  piled  up,  among  the  still-growing  trees,  dead  logs 
in  every  stage  of  decay.  Such  a  sight  may  be  seen  in  Eu- 
rope, among  the  high  Silver-fir  forests  of  the  Pyrenees. 
How  is  it  not  so  here  ?  How  indeed  ?  And  how  comes 
it — if  you  will,  look  again — that  there  are  few  or  no  fallen 
trees,  and  actually  no  leaf-mould  ?  In  an  English  wood 
there  would  be  a  foot — perhaps  two  feet — of  black  soil, 
renewed  every  autumn  leaf  fall.  Two  feet  ?  One  has 
heard  often  enough  of  bison-hunting  in  Himalayan  forests 
among  Deodaras  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  and  scar- 
let Rhododendrons  thirty  feet  high,  growing  in  fifteen  or 
twenty  feet  of  leaf-and-timber  mould.  And  here  in  a  for- 
est equally  ancient,  every  plant  is  growing  out  of  the  bare 
yellow  loam,  as  it  might  in  a  well-hoed  garden  bed.  Is  it 
not  strange  ? 

Most  strange ;  till  you  remember  where  you  are — in  one 
of  nature's  hottest  and  dampest  laboratories.  Nearly  eighty 
inches  of  yearly  rain  and  more  than  eighty  degrees  of  per- 
petual heat  make  swift  work  with  vegetable  fibre,  which,  in 
our  cold  and  sluggard  clime,  would  curdle  into  leaf-mould, 
perhaps  into  peat.  Far  to  the  north,  in  poor  old  Ireland, 
and  far  to  the  south,  in  Patagonia,  begin  the  zones  of  peat, 
where  dead  vegetable  fibre,  its  treasures  of  light  and  heat 


THE  HIGH  WOODS 

locked  up,  lies  all  but  useless  age  after  age.  But  this  is  the 
zone  of  illimitable  sun-force,  which  destroys  as  swiftly  as 
it  generates,  and  generates  again  as  swiftly  as  it  destroys. 
Here,  when  the  forest  giant  falls,  as  some  tell  me  that  they 
have  heard  him  fall,  on  silent  nights,  when  the  cracking  of 
the  roots  below  the  lianes  aloft  rattles  like  musketry  through 
the  woods,  till  the  great  trunk  comes  down,  with  a  boom 
as  of  a  heavy  gun,  re-echoing  on  from  mountain-side 
to  mountain-side  ;  then  — 

"  Nothing  in  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  an  air  !  change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange." 

Under  the  genial  rain  and  genial  heat  the  timber  tree  it- 
self, all  its  tangled  ruin  of  lianes  and  parasites,  and  the 
boughs  and  leaves  snapped  off  not  only  by  the  blow,  but  by 
the  very  wind,  of  the  falling  tree — all  melt  away  swiftly 
and  peacefully  in  a  few  months — say  almost  a  few  days — 
into  the  water,  and  carbonic  acid,  and  sunlight,  out  of 
which  they  were  created  at  first,  to  be  absorbed  instantly 
by  the  green  leaves  around,  and,  transmuted  into  fresh 
forms  of  beauty,  leave  not  a  wrack  behind.  Explained 
thus — and  this  I  believe  to  be  the  true  explanation — the 
absence  of  leaf-mould  is  one  of  the  grandest,  as  it  is  one 
of  the  most  startling,  phenomena,  of  the  forest. 

Look  here  at  a  fresh  wonder.  Away  in  front  of  us  a 
smooth  grey  pillar  glistens  on  high.  You  can  see  neither 
the  top  nor  the  bottom  of  it.  But  its  colour,  and  its  per- 
fectly cylindrical  shape,  tell  you  what  it  is — a  glorious 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  315 

Palmiste  ;  one  of  those  queens  of  the  forest  which  you  saw 
standing  in  the  fields ;  with  its  capital  buried  in  the  green 
cloud  and  its  base  buried  in  that  bank  of  green  velvet 
plumes,  which  you  must  skirt  carefully  round,  for  they  are 
prickly  dwarf  palm,  called  Black  Roseau.  Close  to  it  rises 
another  pillar,  as  straight  and  smooth,  but  one-fourth  of 
the  diameter — a  giant's  walking  cane.  Its  head,  too,  is  in 
the  green  cloud.  But  near  are  two  or  three  younger  ones 
only  forty  or  fifty  feet  high,  and  you  see  their  delicate 
feather  heads,  and  are  told  that  they  are  Manacques  j  the 
slender  nymphs  which  attend  upon  the  forest  queen,  as 
beautiful,  though  not  as  grand,  as  she. 

The  land  slopes  down  fast  now.  You  are  tramping 
through  stiff  mud,  and  those  Roseaux  are  a  sign  of  water. 
There  is  a  stream  or  gulley  near :  and  now  for  the  first  time 
you  can  see  clear  sunshine  through  the  stems ;  and  see,  too, 
something  of  the  bank  of  foliage  on  the  other  side  of  the 
brook.  You  can  catch  sight,  it  may  be,  of  the  head  of  a 
tree  aloft,  blazing  with  golden  trumpet  flowers,  which  is  a 
Poui ;  and  of  another  low-one  covered  with  hoar-frost, 
perhaps  a  Croton ;  and  of  another,  a  giant  covered  with 
purple  tassels.  That  is  an  Angelim.  Another  giant  over- 
tops even  him.  His  dark  glossy  leaves  toss  off  sheets  of 
silver  light  as  they  flicker  in  the  breeze ;  for  it  blows 
hard  aloft  outside  while  you  are  in  the  stifling  calm.  That 
is  a  Balata.  And  what  is  that  on  high  ?  Twenty  or  thirty 
square  yards  of  rich  crimson  a  hundred  feet  above  the 
ground.  The  flowers  may  belong  to  the  tree  itself.  It 
may  be  Mountain-mangrove,  which  I  have  never  seen  in 


316  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

flower:  but  take  the  glasses  and  decide.  No.  The 
flowers  belong  to  a  liane.  The  "  wonderful  "  Prince  of 
Wales'  feather  has  taken  possession  of  the  head  of  a  huge 
Mombin,  and  tiled  it  all  over  with  crimson  combs  which 
crawl  out  to  the  ends  of  the  branches,  and  dangle  twenty 
or  thirty  feet  down,  waving  and  leaping  in  the  breeze. 
And  all  over  blazes  the  cloudless  blue. 

You  gaze  astounded.  Ten  steps  downward,  and  the 
vision  is  gone.  The  green  cloud  has  closed  again  over 
your  head,  and  you  are  stumbling  in  the  darkness  of  the 
bush,  half  blinded  by  the  sudden  change  from  the  blaze  to 
the  shade.  Beware.  "  Take  care  of  the  Croc-chien !  " 
shouts  your  companion :  and  you  are  aware  of,  not  a  foot 
from  your  face,  a  long,  green,  curved  whip,  armed  with  pairs 
of  barbs  some  four  inches  apart ;  and  you  are  aware  also,  at 
the  same  moment,  that  another  has  seized  you  by  the  arm,  an- 
other by  the  knees,  and  that  you  must  back  out,  unless  you 
are  willing  to  part  with  your  clothes,  and  your  flesh  after- 
wards. You  back  out,  and  find  that  you  have  walked  into 
the  tips — luckily  only  into  the  tips — of  the  fern-like  fronds 
of  a  trailing  and  climbing  palm  such  as  you  see  in  the  Botanic 
Gardens.  That  came  from  the  East,  and  furnishes  the 
rattan-canes.  This  furnishes  the  gri-gri-canes,  and  is 
rather  worse  to  meet,  if  possible,  than  the  rattan.  Your 
companion,  while  he  helps  you  to  pick  the  barbs  out,  calls 
the  palm  laughingly  by  another  name,  "  Suelta-mi-Ingles  "  ; 
and  tells  you  the  old  story  of  the  Spanish  soldier  at  San 
Josef.  You  are  near  the  water  now ;  for  here  is  a  thicket 
of  Balisiers.  Push  through,  under  their  great  plantain-like 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  317 

leaves.  Slip  down  the  muddy  bank  to  that  patch  of  gravel. 
See  first,  though,  that  it  is  not  tenanted  already  by  a  deadly 
Mapepire,  or  rattlesnake,  which  has  not  the  grace,  as  his 
cousin  in  North  America  has,  to  use  his  rattle. 

The  brooklet,  muddy  with  last  night's  rain,  is  dammed 
and  bridged  by  winding  roots,  in  the  shape  like  the  jointed 
wooden  snakes  which  we  used  to  play  with  as  children. 
They  belong  probably  to  a  fig,  whose  trunk  is  somewhere 
up  in  the  green  cloud.  Sit  down  on  one,  and  look,  around 
and  aloft.  From  the  soil  to  the  sky,  which  peeps  through 
here  and  there,  the  air  is  packed  with  green  leaves  of  every 
imaginable  hue  and  shape.  Round  our  feet  are  Arums, 
with  snow-white  spadixes  and  hoods,  one  instance  among 
many  here  of  brilliant  colour  developing  itself  in  deep 
shade.  But  is  the  darkness  of  the  forest  actually  as  great 
as  it  seems  ?  Or  are  our  eyes,  accustomed  to  the  blaze 
outside,  unable  to  expand  rapidly  enough,  and  so  liable  to 
mistake  for  darkness  air  really  full  of  light  reflected  down- 
wards, again  and  again,  at  every  angle,  from  the  glossy  sur- 
faces of  a  million  of  leaves  ?  At  least  we  may  be  ex- 
cused; for  a  bat  has  made  the  same  mistake,  and  flits  past 
us  at  noonday.  And  there  is  another — No ;  as  it  turns,  a 
blaze  of  metallic  azure  off"  the  upper  side  of  the  wings 
proves  this  one  to  be  no  bat,  but  a  Morpho — a  moth  as  big 
as  a  bat.  And  what  was  that  second  larger  flash  of  golden 
green,  which  dashed  at  the  moth,  and  back  to  yonder 
branch  not  ten  feet  off?  A  Jacamar — kingfisher,  as  they 
miscall  her  here,  sitting  fearless  of  man,  with  the  moth  in 
her  long  beak.  Her  throat  is  snowy  white,  her  under- 


318  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

parts  rich  red  brown.  Her  breast,  and  all  her  upper  plum- 
age and  long  tail,  glitter  with  golden  green.  There  is 
light  enough  in  this  darkness,  it  seems.  But  now  look 
again  at  the  plants.  Among  the  white-flowered  Arums  are 
other  Arums,  stalked  and  spotted,  of  which  beware ;  for 
they  are  the  poisonous  Seguine-diable,  the  dumb-cane,  of 
which  evil  tales  were  told  in  the  days  of  slavery.  A  few 
drops  of  its  milk,  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  refractory  slave, 
or  again  into  the  food  of  a  cruel  master,  could  cause  swell- 
ing, choking,  and  burning  agony  for  many  hours. 

Over  our  heads  bend  the  great  arrow  leaves  and  purple 
leaf-stalks  of  the  Tanias ;  and  mingled  with  them,  leaves 
often  larger  still:  oval,  glossy,  bright,  ribbed,  reflecting 
from  their  underside  a  silver  light.  They  belong  to 
Arumas;  and  from  their  ribs  are  woven  the  Indian  baskets 
and  packs.  Above  these,  again,  the  Balisiers  bend  their 
long  leaves,  eight  or  ten  feet  long  apiece ;  and  under  the 
shade  of  the  leaves  their  gay  flower-spikes,  like  double  rows 
of  orange  and  black-birds'  beaks  upside  down.  Above 
them,  and  among  them,  rise  stiff  upright  shrubs,  with  pairs 
of  pointed  leaves,  a  foot  long  some  of  them,  pale  green 
above,  and  yellow  or  fawn-coloured  beneath.  You  may 
see,  by  the  three  longitudinal  nerves  in  each  leaf,  that  they 
are  Melastomas  of  different  kinds — a  sure  token  that  you 
are  in  the  Tropics — a  probable  token  that  you  are  in 
Tropical  America. 

And  over  them,  and  among  them,  what  a  strange  variety 
of  foliage.  Look  at  the  contrast  between  the  Balisiers  and 
that  branch  which  has  thrust  itself  among  them,  which  you 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  319 

take  for  a  dark  copper-coloured  fern,  so  finely  divided  are 
its  glossy  leaves.  It  is  really  a  Mimosa-Bois  Mulatre  as 
they  call  it  here.  What  a  contrast  again,  the  huge  feathery 
fronds  of  the  Cocorite  palms  which  stretch  right  away 
hither  over  our  heads,  twenty  and  thirty  feet  in  length. 
And  what  is  that  spot  of  crimson  flame  hanging  in  the 
darkest  spot  of  all  from  an  under-bough  of  that  low  weep- 
ing tree  ?  A  flower-head  of  the  Rosa  del  Monte.  And 
what  that  bright  straw-coloured  fox's  brush  above  it,  with  a 
brown  hood  like  that  of  an  Arum,  brush  and  hood  nigh 
three  feet  long  each  ?  Look — for  you  require  to  look  more 
than  once,  sometimes  more  than  twice — here,  up  the  stem 
of  that  Cocorite,  or  as  much  of  it  as  you  can  see  in  the 
thicket.  It  is  all  jagged  with  the  brown  butts  of  its  old 
fallen  leaves ;  and  among  the  butts  perch  broad-leaved 
ferns,  and  fleshy  Orchids,  and  above  them,  just  below  the 
plume  of  mighty  fronds,  the  yellow  fox's  brush,  which  is 
its  spathe  of  flower. 

What  next  ?  Above  the  Cocorites  dangle,  amid  a  dozen 
different  kinds  of  leaves,  festoons  of  a  liane,  or  of  two,  for 
one  has  purple  flowers,  the  other  yellow — Bignonias, 
Bauhinias — what  not  ?  And  through  them  a  Carat  palm 
has  thrust  its  thin  bending  stem,  and  spread  out  its  flat  head 
of  fan-shaped  leaves  twenty  feet  long  each  :  while  over  it, 
I  verily  believe,  hangs  eighty  feet  aloft  the  head  of  the  very 
tree  upon  whose  roots  we  are  sitting.  For  amid  the  green 
cloud  you  may  see  sprigs  of  leaf  somewhat  like  that  of  a 
weeping  willow;  and  there,  probably,  is  the  trunk  to  which 
they  belong,  or  rather  what  will  be  a  trunk  at  last.  At 


320  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

present  it  is  like  a  number  of  round  edged  boards  of  every 
size,  set  on  end,  and  slowly  coalescing  at  their  edges. 
There  is  a  slit  down  the  middle  of  the  trunk,  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  long.  You  may  see  the  green  light  of  the 
forest  shining  through  it.  Yes,  that  is  probably  the  fig ;  or, 
if  not,  then  something  else.  For  who  am  I,  that  I  should 
know  the  hundredth  part  of  the  forms  on  which  we  look  ? 

And  above  all  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  that  crimson  mass 
of  Norantea  which  we  admired  just  now;  and,  black  as 
yew  against  the  blue  sky  and  white  cloud,  the  plumes  of  one 
Palmiste,  who  has  climbed  towards  the  light,  it  may  be  for 
centuries,  through  the  green  cloud ;  and  now,  weary  and 
yet  triumphant,  rests  her  dark  head  among  the  bright  foliage 
of  a  Ceiba,  and  feeds  unhindered  on  the  sun. 

There,  take  your  tired  eyes  down  again ;  and  turn  them 
right,  or  left,  or  where  you  will,  to  see  the  same  scene,  and 
yet  never  the  same.  New  forms,  new  combinations ; 
wealth  of  creative  Genius — let  us  use  the  wise  old  word  in 
its  true  sense — incomprehensible  by  the  human  intellect  or 
the  human  eye,  even  as  He  is  who  makes  it  all,  Whose 
garment,  or  rather  Whose  speech,  it  is.  The  eye  is  not 
filled  with  seeing,  or  the  ear  with  hearing;  and  never 
would  be,  did  you  roam  these  forests  for  a  hundred  years. 
How  many  years  would  you  need  merely  to  examine  and 
discriminate  the  different  species  ?  And  when  you  had 
done  that,  how  many  more  to  learn  their  action  and  reac- 
tion on  each  other  ?  How  many  more  to  learn  their 
virtues,  properties,  uses  ?  How  many  more  to  answer  that 
perhaps  ever  unanswerable  question — How  they  exist  and 


THE  HIGH  WOODS  32.1 

grow  at  all  ?  By  what  miracle  they  are  compacted  out  of 
light,  air,  and  water,  each  after  its  kind.  How,  again, 
those  kinds  began  to  be,  and  what  they  were  like  at  first  ? 
Whether  those  crowded,  struggling,  competing  shapes  are 
stable  or  variable  ?  Whether  or  not  they  are  varying  still  ? 
Whether  even  now,  as  we  sit  here,  the  great  God  may  not 
be  creating,  slowly  but  surely,  new  forms  of  beauty  round 
us.  Why  not  ?  If  He  chose  to  do  it,  could  He  not  do  it  ? 
And  even  had  you  answered  that  question,  which  would  re- 
quire whole  centuries  of  observation  as  patient  and  accurate 
as  that  which  Mr.  Darwin  employed  on  Orchids  and 
climbing  plants,  how  much  nearer  would  you  be  to  the 
deepest  question  of  all — Do  these  things  exist,  or  only  ap- 
pear ?  Are  they  solid  realities,  or  a  mere  phantasmagoria, 
orderly  indeed,  and  law-ruled,  but  a  phantasmagoria  still ;  a 
picture-book  by  which  God  speaks  to  rational  essences, 
created  in  His  own  likeness  ?  And  even  had  you  solved 
that  old  problem,  and  decided  for  Berkeley  or  against  him, 
you  would  still  have  to  learn  from  these  forests  a  knowledge 
which  enters  into  man  not  through  the  head,  but  through 
the  heart ;  which  (let  some  modern  philosophers  say  what 
they  will)  defies  all  analysis,  and  can  be  no  more  defined  or 
explained  by  words  than  a  mother's  love.  I  mean,  the 
causes  and  effects  of  their  beauty ;  that  "  ./Esthetic  of 
plants,"  of  which  Schleiden  has  spoken  so  well  in  that 
charming  book  of  his  The  Plant,  which  all  should  read  who 
wish  to  know  somewhat  of  "  The  Open  Secret." 

But  when  they  read  it,  let  them  read  with    open  hearts. 
For  that  same  4'  Open  Secret "  is,  I  suspect,  one  of  those 


322  THE  HIGH  WOODS 

which  God  may  hide  from  the  wise  and   prudent,  and  yet 
reveal  to  babes. 

At  least,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  the  first  day  that  I  went, 
awe-struck,  into  the  High  Woods;  and  so  it  seemed  to 
me,  the  last  day  that  I  came,  even  more  awe-struck,  out  of 
them. 

At  Last:  a  Christmas  in  the  West  Indies  (London  and 
New  York,  1871). 


THE  YO-SEMIT6  VALLEY 

C.  F.  GORDON-GUMMING 

THE  valley  can  be  approached  from  several  different 
points.  That  by  which  we  entered  is,  I  think, 
known  as  Inspiration  Point.  When  we  started  from 
Clarke's  Ranch,  we  were  then  at  about  the  same  level  as 
we  are  at  this  moment — namely,  4,000  feet  above  the  sea. 
The  road  gradually  wound  upwards  through  beautiful  forest 
and  by  upland  valleys,  where  the  snow  still  lay  pure  and 
white  :  and  here  and  there,  where  it  had  melted  and  exposed 
patches  of  dry  earth,  the  red  flame-like  blossoms  of  the 
snow-plant  gleamed  vividly. 

It  was  slow  work  toiling  up  those  steep  ascents,  and  it 
must  have  taken  us  much  longer  than  our  landlord  had  ex- 
pected, for  he  had  despatched  us  without  a  morsel  of  lunch- 
eon ;  and  ere  we  reached  the  half-way  house,  where  we 
were  to  change  horses,  we  were  all  ravenous.  A  dozen 
hungry  people,  with  appetites  sharpened  by  the  keen,  ex- 
hilarating mountain  air  !  No  provisions  of  any  sort  were 
to  be  had  ;  but  the  compassionate  horse-keeper,  hearing  our 
pitiful  complaints,  produced  a  loaf  and  a  pot  of  blackberry 
jelly,  and  we  all  sat  down  on  a  bank,  and  ate  our  "  piece  " 
(as  the  bairns  in  Scotland  would  say)  with  infinite  relish, 
and  drank  from  a  clear  stream  close  by.  So  we  were  satis- 


324  THE  YO-SEMITfi   VALLEY 

fied  with  bread  here  in  the  wilderness.  I  confess  to  many 
qualms  as  to  how  that  good  fellow  fared  himself,  as  loaves 
cannot  grow  abundantly  in  those  parts. 

Once  more  we  started  on  our  toilsome  way  across 
mountain  meadows  and  forest  ridges,  till  at  last  we  had 
gained  a  height  of  about  7,000  feet  above  the  sea.  Then 
suddenly  we  caught  sight  of  the  valley  lying  about  3,000 
feet  below  us,  an  abrupt  chasm  in  the  great  rolling  expanse 
of  billowy  granite  ridges — or  I  should  rather  describe  it  as  a 
vast  sunken  pit,  with  perpendicular  walls,  and  carpeted  with 
a  level  meadow,  through  which  flows  a  river  gleaming  like 
quicksilver. 

Here  and  there  a  vertical  cloud  of  spray  on  the  face  of 
the  huge  crags  told  where  some  snow-fed  stream  from  the 
upper  levels  had  found  its  way  to  the  brink  of  the  chasm — 
a  perpendicular  fall  of  from  2,000  to  3,000  feet. 

The  fall  nearest  to  where  we  stood,  yet  a  distance  of 
seven  miles,  was  pointed  out  as  the  Bridal  Veil.  It  seemed 
a  floating  film  of  finest  mist,  on  which  played  the  loveliest 
rainbow  lights.  For  the  sun  was  already  lowering  behind 
us,  though  the  light  shown  clear  and  bright  on  the  cold 
white  granite  crags,  and  on  the  glittering  snow-peaks  of  the 
high  Sierras. 

Each  mighty  precipice,  and  rock-needle,  and  strange 
granite  dome  was  pointed  out  to  us  by  name  as  we  halted 
on  the  summit  of  the  pass  ere  commencing  the  steep  de- 
scent. The  Bridal  Veil  falls  over  a  granite  crag  near  the 
entrance  of  the  valley,  which,  on  the  opposite  side,  is 
guarded  by  a  stupendous  square-cut  granite  mass,  projecting 


THE  YO-SEMITfi  VALLEY  325 

so  far  as  seemingly  to  block  the  way.  These  form  the 
gateway  of  this  wonderful  granite  prison.  Perhaps  the 
great  massive  cliff  rather  suggests  the  idea  of  a  huge 
keep  wherein  the  genii  of  the  valley  braved  the  siege  of  the 
Ice-giants. 

The  Indians  revere  it  as  the  gieat  chief  of  the  valley,  but 
white  men  only  know  it  as  El  Capitan.  If  it  must  have  a 
new  title,  I  think  it  should  at  least  rank  as  a  field-marshal 
in  the  rock-world,  for  assuredly  no  other  crag  exists  that 
can  compare  with  it.  Just  try  to  realize  its  dimensions  :  a 
massive  face  of  smooth  cream-coloured  granite,  half  a  mile 
long,  half  a  mile  wide,  three-fifths  of  a  mile  high.  Its 
actual  height  is  3,300  feet — (I  think  that  5,280  feet  go  to  a 
mile).  Think  of  our  beautiful  Castle  Rock  in  Edinburgh, 
with  its  434  feet;  or  Dover  Castle,  469  feet;  or  even 
Arthur's  Seat,  822  feet, — what  pigmies  they  would  seem 
could  some  wizard  transport  them  to  the  base  of  this  grand 
crag,  on  whose  surface  not  a  blade  of  grass,  not  a  fern  or  a 
lichen,  finds  holding  ground,  or  presumes  to  tinge  the  bare, 
clean-cut  precipice,  which,  strange  to  tell,  is  clearly  visible 
from  the  great  San  Joaquin  Valley,  a  distance  of  sixty 
miles ! 

Imagine  a  crag  just  the  height  of  Snowdon,  with  a  lovely 
snow-stream  falling  perpendicularly  from  its  summit  to  its 
base,  and  a  second  and  larger  fall  in  the  deep  gorge  where  it 
meets  the  rock-wall  of  the  valley.  The  'first  is  nameless, 
and  will  vanish  with  the  snows;  but  the  second  never  dries 
up,  even  in  summer.  It  is  known  to  the  Indians  as  Lung- 
oo-too-koo-ya,  which  describes  its  graceful  length ;  but 


326  THE  YO-SEMITfi  VALLEY 

white  men  call  it  The  Virgin's  Tears  or  The  Ribbon 
Fall — a  blending  of  millinery  and  romance  doubtless  de- 
vised by  the  same  genius  who  changed  the  Indian  name  of 
Pohono  to  The  Bridal  Veil. 

We  passed  close  to  the  latter  as  we  entered  the  valley — 
in  fact,  forded  the  stream  just  below  the  fall — and  agreed 
that  if  Pohono  be  in  truth,  as  the  Indian  legend  tells,  the 
spirit  of  an  evil  wind,  it  surely  must  be  repentant  glorified 
spirit,  for  nothing  so  beautiful  could  be  evil.  It  is  a  sight 
to  gladden  the  angels — a  most  ethereal  fall,  light  as  steam, 
swaying  with  every  breath. 

It  falls  from  an  overhanging  rock,  and  often  the  current 
produced  by  its  own  rushing  seems  to  pass  beneath  the 
rock,  and  so  checks  the  whole  column,  and  carries  it  up- 
ward in  a  wreath  of  whitest  vapour,  blending  with  the  true 
clouds. 

When  the  rainbow  plays  on  it,  it  too  seems  to  be  wafted 
up,  and  floats  in  a  jewelled  spray,  wherein  sapphires  and 
diamonds  and  opals,  topaz  and  emeralds,  all  mingle  their 
dazzling  tints.  At  other  times  it  rushes  down  in  a  shower 
of  fairy-like  rockets  in  what  appears  to  be  a  perpendicular 
column  1,000  feet  high,  and  loses  itself  in  a  cloud  of  mist 
among  the  tall  dark  pines  which  clothe  the  base  of  the  crag. 

A  very  accurate  gentleman  has  just  assured  me  that  it 
is  not  literally  perpendicular,  as,  after  a  leap  of  630  feet,  it 
strikes  the  rock,  and  then  makes  a  fresh  start  in  a  series  of 
almost  vertical  cascades,  which  form  a  dozen  streamlets  ere 
they  reach  the  meadows.  He  adds  that  the  fall  is  about 
fifty  feet  wide  at  the  summit. 


THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY  327 

The  rock-mass  over  which  it  falls  forms  the  other  great 
granite  portal  of  the  valley,  not  quite  so  imposing  as  its 
massive  neighbour,  but  far  more  shapely.  In  fact,  it  bears 
so  strong  a  resemblance  to  a  Gothic  building  that  it  is 
called  the  Cathedral  Rock.  It  is  a  cathedral  for  the  giants, 
being  2,660  feet  in  height  j  and  two  graceful  rock-pinnacles 
attached  to  the  main  rock,  and  known  as  the  Cathedral 
Spires,  are  each  500  feet  in  height. 

Beyond  these,  towers  a  truly  imposing  rock-needle, 
which  has  been  well  named  The  Sentinel.  It  is  an 
obelisk  1,000  feet  in  height,  rising  from  the  great  rock-wall, 
which  forms  a  pedestal  of  2,000  more. 

As  if  to  balance  these  three  rock-needles  on  the  right- 
hand  side,  there  are,  on  the  left,  three  rounded  mountains 
which  the  Indians  call  Pompompasus — that  is,  the  Leap- 
ing-Frog  Rocks.  They  rise  in  steps,  forming  a  triple 
mountain  3,630  feet  high.  Tall  frogs  these,  even  for  Cali- 
fornia. Imaginative  people  say  the  resemblance  is  unmis- 
takable, and  that  all  the  frogs  are  poised  as  if  in  readiness 
for  a  spring,  with  their  heads  all  turned  the  same  way. 
For  my  own  part,  I  have  a  happy  knack  of  not  seeing 
these  accidental  likenesses,  and  especially  those  faces  and 
pictures  (generally  grotesque)  which  some  most  aggravating 
people  are  always  discovering  among  the  lines  and  weather- 
stains  on  the  solemn  crags,  and  which  they  insist  on 
pointing  out  to  their  unfortunate  companions.  Our  coach- 
man seemed  to  consider  this  a  necessary  part  of  his  office, 
so  I  assume  there  must  be  some  people  who  like  it. 

Farther  up   the   valley,  two  gigantic  Domes  of    white 


328  THE  YO-SEMITfe  VALLEY 

granite  are  built  upon  the  foundation  of  the  great  encom- 
passing wall.  One  stands  on  each  side  of  the  valley. 
The  North  Dome  is  perfect,  like  the  roof  of  some  vast 
mosque ;  but  the  South,  or  Half  Dome,  is  an  extraordinary 
freak  of  nature,  very  puzzling  to  geologists,  as  literally 
half  of  a  stupendous  mass  of  granite  has  disappeared,  leav- 
ing no  trace  of  its  existence,  save  a  sheer  precipitous  rock- 
face,  considerably  over  4,000  feet  in  height,  from  which  the 
corresponding  half  has  evidently  broken  off,  and  slipped 
down  into  some  fearful  chasm,  which  apparently  it  has 
been  the  means  of  filling  up. 

Above  the  Domes,  and  closing  in  the  upper  end  of  the 
valley,  is  a  beautiful  snow  mountain,  called  Cloud's  Rest, 
which,  seen  from  afar,  is  the  most  attractive  point  of  all, 
and  one  which  I  must  certainly  visit  some  day.  But 
meanwhile  there  are  nearer  points  of  infinite  interest,  the 
foremost  being  the  waterfall  from  which  the  valley  takes  its 
name,  and  which  burst  suddenly  upon  our  amazed  vision 
when  we  reached  the  base  of  the  Sentinel  Rock. 

It  is  so  indescribably  lovely  that  I  altogether  despair  of 
conveying  any  notion  of  it  in  words,  so  shall  not  try  to  do 
so  yet  a  while. 

But  from  what  I  have  told  you,  you  must  perceive  that 
each  step  in  this  strange  valley  affords  a  study  for  weeks, 
whether  to  an  artist,  a  geologist,  or  any  other  lover  of 
beautiful  and  wonderful  scenes ;  and  more  than  ever,  I 
congratulate  myself  on  having  arrived  here  while  all  the 
oaks,  alders,  willows,  and  other  deciduous  trees,  are  bare 
and  leafless,  so  that  no  curtain  of  dense  foliage  conceals 


THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY  329 

the  countless  beauties  of  the  valley.  Already  I  have  seen 
innumerable  most  beautiful  views,  scarcely  veiled  by  the 
filmy  network  of  twigs,  but  which  evidently  will  be  alto- 
gether concealed  a  month  hence,  when  these  have  donned 
their  summer  dress.  To  me  these  leafless  trees  rank  with 
fires  and  snows.  I  have  not  seen  one  since  I  left  England, 
so  I  look  at  them  with  renewed  interest,  and  delight  in  the 
beauty  of  their  anatomy,  as  you  and  I  have  done  many  a 
time  in  the  larch  woods  and  the  "birken  braes"  of  the 
Findhorn  (where  the  yellow  twigs  of  the  larch,  and  the 
grey  aspen,  and  claret-coloured  sprays  of  birch,  blend  with 
russet  oak  and  green  Scotch  firs,  and  produce  a  winter 
colouring  well-nigh  as  varied  as  that  of  summer). 

Here  there  is  an  enchanting  reminder  of  home  in  the  tall 
poplar-trees — the  Balm  of  Gilead — which  are  just  bursting 
into  leaf,  and  fill  the  air  with  heavenly  perfume.  They 
grow  in  clumps  all  along  the  course  of  the  Merced,  the 
beautiful  "  river  of  Mercy,"  which  flows  through  this  green 
level  valley  so  peacefully,  as  if  it  was  thankful  for  this 
quiet  interval  in  the  course  of  its  restless  life. 

There  .is  no  snow  in  the  valley,  but  it  still  lies  thickly  on 
the  hills  all  round.  Very  soon  it  will  melt,  and  then  the 
falls  will  all  be  in  their  glory,  and  the  meadows  will  be 
flooded  and  the  streams  impassable.  I  am  glad  we  have 
arrived  in  time  to  wander  about  dry-footed,  and  to  learn 
the  geography  of  the  country  in  its  normal  state. 

The  valley  is  an  almost  dead  level,  about  eight  miles 
long,  and  varies  in  width  from  half  a  mile  to  two  miles.  It 
is  like  a  beautiful  park  of  greenest  sward,  through  which 


33°  THE  YO-SEMITfi  VALLEY 

winds  the  clear,  calm  river — a  capital  trout-stream,  of  about 
eighty  feet  in  width.  In  every  direction  are  scattered  pic- 
turesque groups  of  magnificent  trees,  noble  old  oaks,  and 
pines  of  250  feet  in  height !  The  river  is  spanned  by  two 
wooden  bridges;  and  three  neat  hotels  are  well  placed 
about  the  middle  of  the  valley,  half  a  mile  apart — happily 
not  fine,  incongruous  buildings,  but  wooden  bungalows, 
well  suited  to  the  requirements  of  such  pilgrims  as  our- 
selves. .  .  . 

May-day,  1877. 

May-day  !  What  a  vision  of  langsyne  !  Of  the  May- 
dew  we  used  to  gather  from  off  the  cowslips  by  the  sweet 
burnside,  in  those  dear  old  days 


"  When  we  all  were  young  together, 
And  the  earth  was  new  to  me." 


I  dare  say  you  forgot  all  about  May-day  this  morning,  in  the 
prosaic  details  of  town  life.  But  here  we  ran  no  such  risk, 
for  we  had  determined  to  watch  the  Beltane  sunrise,  re- 
flected in  the  glassiest  of  mountain-tarns,  known  as  the 
Mirror  Lake ;  and  as  it  lies  about  three  miles  from  here,  in 
one  of  the  upper  forks  of  the  valley,  we  had  to  astir  be- 
times. 

So,  when  the  stars  began  to  pale  in  the  eastern  sky,  we 
were  astir,  and  with  the  earliest  ray  of  dawn  set  off  like 
true  pilgrims  bound  to  drink  of  some  holy  spring  on  May 
morning.  For  the  first  two  miles  our  path  lay  across 
quiet  meadows,  which  as  yet  are  only  sprinkled  with  bios- 


THE  YO-SEMIT£  VALLEY  331 

som.  We  found  no  cowslips,  but  washed  our  faces  in 
Californian  May-dew,  which  we  brushed  from  the  fresh 
young  grass  and  ferns^  Soon,  they  tell  me,  there  will  be 
violets,  cowslips,  and  primroses.  We  passed  by  the  orchard 
of  the  first  settler  in  the  valley ;  his  peach  and  cherry  trees 
were  laden  with  pink  and  white  blossoms,  his  strawberry- 
beds  likewise  promising  an  abundant  crop. 

It  was  a  morning  of  calm  beauty,  and  the  massive  grey 
crags  all  around  the  valley  lay  "  like  sleeping  kings  "  robed 
in  purple  gloom,  while  the  pale  yellow  light  crept  behind 
them,  the  tall  pines  forming  a  belt  of  deeper  hue  round 
their  base. 

About  two  miles  above  the  Great  Yo-semite  Falls,  the 
valley  divides  into  three  branches — canyons,  I  should  say, 
or,  more  correctly  canons.  The  central  one  is  the  main 
branch,  through  which  the  Merced  itself  descends  from  the 
high  Sierras,  passing  through  the  Little  Yo-semite  Valley, 
and  thence  rushing  down  deep  gorges,  and  leaping  two  prec- 
ipices of  700  and  400  feet  (which  form  the  Nevada  and 
the  Vernal  Falls),  and  so  entering  the  Great  Valley,  where 
for  eight  miles  it  finds  rest. 

The  canyon  which  diverges  to  the  right  is  that  down 
which  rushes  the  South  Fork  of  the  Merced,  which  bears 
the  musical  though  modern  name  of  Illillouette.  It  rises  at 
the  base  of  Mount  Starr  King,  and  enters  the  valley  by  the 
graceful  falls  which  bear  this  pretty  name. 

At  the  point  where  we  left  the  main  valley  to  turn  into 
the  Tenaya  Fork,  the  rock-wall  forms  a  sharp  angle,  end- 
ing in  a  huge  columnar  mass  of  very  white  granite  2,400 


33 2  THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY 

feet  in  height.  The  Indians  call  it  Hunto,  which  means 
one  who  keeps  watch  ;  but  the  white  men  call  it  Washing- 
ton Column. 

Beside  it,  the  rock-wall  has  taken  the  form  of  gigantic 
arches.  The  lower  rock  seems  to  have  weakened  and 
crumbled  or  split  off  in  huge  flakes,  while  the  upper  por- 
tions remain,  overhanging  considerably,  and  forming  regu- 
larly arched  cliffs  2,000  feet  in  height.  I  cannot  think  how 
it  has  happened  that  in  so  republican  a  community  these 
mighty  rocks  should  be  known  as  the  Royal  Arches,  unless 
from  some  covert  belief  that  they  are  undermined,  and 
liable  to  topple  over.  Their  original  name  is  To-coy-oe, 
which  describes  the  arched  hood  of  an  Indian  baby's  cradle 
— a  famous  nursery  for  giants. 

The  perpendicular  rock-face  beneath  the  arches  is  a 
sheer,  smooth  surface,  yet  seamed  with  deep  cracks  as 
though  it  would  fall,  were  it  not  for  the  mighty  buttresses 
of  solid  rock  which  project  for  some  distance,  casting  deep 
shadows  across  the  cliff.  As  a  test  of  size,  I  noticed  a  tiny 
pine  growing  from  a  crevice  in  the  rock-face,  and  on  com- 
paring it  with  another  in  a  more  accessible  position,  I  found 
that  it  was  really  a  very  large,  well-grown  tree. 

Just  at  this  season,  when  the  snows  on  the  Sierras  are 
beginning  to  melt,  a  thousand  crystal  streams  find  temporary 
channels  along  the  high  levels  till  they  reach  the  smooth 
verge  of  the  crags,  and  thence  leap  in  white  foam,  forming 
temporary  falls  of  exceeding  beauty.  Three  such  graceful 
falls  at  present  overleap  the  mighty  arches,  and,  in  their 
turn,  produce  pools  and  exquisitely  clear  streams,  which 


THE  YO-SEMITfe  VALLEY  333 

thread  their  devious  way  through  woods  and  meadows,  seek- 
ing the  river  of  Mercy. 

So  the  air  is  musical  with  the  lullaby  of  hidden  waters,  and 
the  murmur  of  the  unseen  river  rippling  over  its  pebbly  bed. 

Turning  to  the  right,  we  next  ascended  Tenaya  valley, 
which  is  beautifully  wooded,  chiefly  with  pine  and  oak,  and 
strewn  with  the  loveliest  mossy  boulders.  Unfortunately, 
the  number  of  rattlesnakes  is  rather  a  drawback  to  perfect 
enjoyment  here.  I  have  so  long  been  accustomed  to  our 
perfect  immunity  from  all  manner  of  noxious  creatures  in 
the  blessed  South  Sea  Isles,  that  I  find  it  difficult  at  first  to 
recall  my  wonted  caution,  and  to  "  gang  warily."  How- 
ever, to-day  we  saw  no  evil  creatures — only  a  multitude  of 
the  jolliest  little  chip-munks,  which  are  small  grey  squirrels 
of  extreme  activity.  They  are  very  tame,  and  dance  about 
the  trees  close  to  us,  jerking  their  brush,  and  giving  the 
funniest  little  skips,  and  sometimes  fairly  chattering  to  us  ! 

Beyond  this  wood  we  found  the  Mirror  Lake.  It  is  a 
small  pool,  but  exquisitely  cradled  in  the  very  midst  of  stern 
granite  giants,  which  stand  all  around  as  sentinels,  guarding 
its  placid  sleep.  Willows,  already  covered  with  downy 
tufts,  and  now  just  bursting  into  slender  leaflets,  fringe  its 
shores,  and  tall  cedars  and  pines  overshadow  its  waters,  and 
are  therein  reflected  in  the  stillness  of  early  dawn,  when 
even  the  granite  crags  far  overhead  also  find  themselves 
mirrored  in  the  calm  lakelet.  But  with  the  dawn  comes  a 
whispering  breeze;  and  just  as  the  sun's  first  gleam  kisses 
the  waters,  the  illusion  vanishes,  and  there  remains  only  a 
somewhat  muddy  and  troubled  pool. 


334  THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY 

It  lies  just  at  the  base  of  that  extraordinary  Half-Dome 
of  which  I  told  you  yesterday — a  gigantic  crest  of  granite, 
which  rises  above  the  lake  almost  precipitously  to  a  height 
of  4,737  feet.  Only  think  of  it ! — nearly  a  mile  !  Of  this 
the  upper  2,000  feet  is  a  sheer  face  of  granite  crag,  abso- 
lutely vertical,  except  that  the  extreme  summit  actually  pro- 
jects somewhat;  otherwise  it  is  as  clean  cut  as  if  the 
mighty  Dome  had  been  cloven  with  a  sword.  A  few  dark 
streaks  near  the  summit  (due,  I  believe,  to  a  microscopic 
fungus  or  lichen)  alone  relieve  the  unbroken  expanse  of 
glistening,  creamy  white. 

The  lower  half  slopes  at  a  very  slight  incline,  and  is  like- 
wise a  solid  mass  of  granite — not  made  up  of  broken  frag- 
ments, of  which  there  are  a  wonderfully  small  proportion 
anywhere  in  the  valley.  So  the  inference  is,  that  in  the 
tremendous  convulsion  this  mighty  chasm  was  created,  the 
great  South  Dome  was  split  from  the  base  to  the  summit, 
and  that  half  of  it  slid  down  into  the  yawning  gulf:  thus 
the  gently  rounded  base,  between  the  precipice  and  the  lake, 
was  doubtless  originally  the  summit  of  the  missing  half 
mountain. 

I  believe  that  geologists  are  now  satisfied  that  this  strange 
valley,  with  its  clean-cut,  vertical  walls,  was  produced  by 
what  is  called  in  geology  "  a  fault," — namely,  that  some  of 
the  earth's  ribs  having  given  away  internally,  a  portion  of 
the  outer  crust  has  subsided,  leaving  an  unoccupied  space. 
That  such  was  the  case  in  Yo-semite,  is  proved  by  much 
scientific  reasoning.  It  is  shown  that  the  two  sides  of  the 
valley  in  no  way  correspond,  so  the  idea  of  a  mere  gigantic 


THE  YO-SEMIT£  VALLEY  335 

fissure  cannot  be  entertained.  Besides,  as  the  valley  is  as 
wide  at  the  base  as  at  the  summit,  the  vertical  walls  must 
have  moved  apart  bodily, — a  theory  which  would  involve  a 
movement  of  the  whole  chain  of  the  Sierras  for  a  distance 
of  a  half  a  mile. 

There  is  not  trace  of  any  glacier  having  passed  through 
the  valley,  so  that  the  Ice-giants  have  had  no  share  in 
making  it.  Neither  can  it  have  been  excavated  by  the 
long-continued  action  of  rushing  torrents,  such  as  have 
carved  great  canyons  in  many  parts  of  the  Sierra  Nevada. 
These  never  have  vertical  walls ;  and  besides,  the  smoothest 
faces  of  granite  in  Yo-semite  are  turned  towards  the  lower 
end  of  the  valley,  proving  at  once  that  they  were  never 
produced  by  forces  moving  downward. 

So  it  is  simply  supposed  that  a  strip  of  the  Sierras  caved 
in,  and  that  in  time  the  melting  snows  and  streams  formed 
a  great  deep  lake,  which  filled  up  the  whole  space  now  oc- 
cupied by  the  valley.  In  the  course  of  ages  the  debris  of 
the  hills  continually  falling  into  the  lake,  must  have  filled 
up  the  chasm  to  a  level  with  the  canyon,  which  is  the 
present  outlet  from  the  valley ;  and  as  the  glaciers  on  the 
upper  Sierras  disappeared,  and  the  water-supply  grew  less, 
the  lake  must  have  gradually  dried  up  (and  that  in  com- 
paratively recent  times),  and  its  bed  of  white  granite  sand, 
mingled  with  vegetable  mould,  was  transformed  into  a 
green  meadow,  through  which  the  quiet  river  now  glides 
peacefully. 

This  evening  the  sun  set  in  a  flood  of  crimson  and  gold — 
such  a  glorious  glow  as  would  have  dazzled  an  eagle.  It 


336  THE  YO-SEMIT6  VALLEY 

paled  to  a  soft  primrose,  then  ethereal  green.  Later,  the 
pearly-grey  clouds  were  rose-flushed  by  an  afterglow  more 
vivid  than  the  sunset  itself — a  rich  full  carmine,  which 
quickly  faded  away  to  the  cold,  intense  blue  of  a  Californian 
night.  It  was  inexpressibly  lovely. 

Then  the  fitful  wind  rose  in  gusts — a  melancholy,  moan- 
ing wail,  vibrating  among  rocks,  forests,  and  waters,  with  a 
low,  surging  sound — a  wild  mountain  melody. 

No  wonder  the  Indians  reverence  the  beautiful 
Yo-semite  Falls.  Even  the  white  settlers  in  the  val- 
ley cannot  resist  their  influence,  but  speak  of  them  with 
an  admiration  that  amounts  to  love.  Some  of  them 
have  spent  the  winter  here,  and  seem  almost  to  have 
enjoyed  it. 

They  say  that  if  I  could  see  the  falls  in  their  winter 
robes,  all  fringed  with  icicles,  I  should  gain  a  glimpse  of 
fairyland.  At  the  base  of  the  great  fall  the  fairies  build  a 
real  ice-palace,  something  more  than  a  hundred  feet  high. 
It  is  formed  by  the  ever  falling,  freezing  spray ;  and  the 
bright  sun  gleams  on  this  glittering  palace  of  crystal,  and 
the  falling  water,  striking  upon  it,  shoots  off  in  showers  like 
myriad  opals  and  diamonds. 

Now  scarcely  an  icicle  remains,  and  the  falls  are  in  their 
glory.  I  had  never  dreamt  of  anything  so  lovely.  .  .  . 
Here  we  stand  in  the  glorious  sunlight,  among  pine-trees  a 
couple  of  hundred  feet  in  height;  and  they  are  pigmies  like 
ourselves  in  presence  of  even  the  lowest  step  of  the  stately 
fall,  which  leaps  and  dashes  from  so  vast  a  height  that  it  loses 
all  semblance  of  water.  It  is  a  splendid  bouquet  of  glisten- 


THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY  337 

ing  rockets,  which,  instead  of  rushing  heavenward,  shoot 
down  as  if  from  the  blue  canopy,  which  seems  to  touch  the 
brink  nearly  2,700  feet  above  us. 

Like  myriad  falling  stars  they  flash,  each  keeping  its  sep- 
arate course  for  several  hundred  feet,  till  at  length  it  blends 
with  ten  thousand  more,  in  the  grand  avalanche  of  frothy, 
fleecy  foam,  which  for  ever  and  for  ever  falls,  boiling  and 
raging  like  a  whirlpool,  among  the  huge  black  boulders  in 
the  deep  cauldron  below,  and  throwing  back  clouds  of  mist 
and  vapour. 

The  most  exquisite  moment  occurs  when  you  reach  some 
spot  where  the  sun's  rays,  streaming  past  you,  transform  the 
light  vapour  into  brilliant  rainbow-prisms,  which  gird  the 
falls  with  vivid  iris-bars.  As  the  water-rockets  flash 
through  these  radiant  belts,  they  seem  to  carry  the  colour 
onwards  as  they  fall ;  and  sometimes  it  wavers  and  trembles 
in  the  breeze,  so  that  the  rainbow  knows  not  where  to  rest, 
but  forms  a  moving  column  of  radiant  tri-colour. 

So  large  a  body  of  water  rushing  through  the  air,  natur- 
ally produces  a  strong  current,  which,  passing  between  the 
face  of  the  rock  and  the  fall,  carries  the  latter  well  forward, 
so  that  it  becomes  the  sport  of  every  breeze  that  dances 
through  the  valley ;  hence  this  great  column  is  forever 
vibrating  from  side  to  side,  and  often  it  forms  a  semi-circu- 
lar curve. 

The  width  of  the  stream  at  the  summit  is  about  twenty 
to  thirty  feet,  but  at  the  base  of  the  upper  fall  it  has  ex- 
panded to  a  width  of  fully  300  feet ;  and,  as  the  wind  car- 
ries it  to  one  side  or  the  other,  it  plays  over  a  space  of  fully 


THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY 

1 ,000  feet  in  width,  of  a  precipitous  rock-face  1,600  feet  in 
depth.  That  is  the  height  of  the  upper  fall. 

As  seen  from  below  the  Yo-semite,  though  divided  into 
three  distinct  falls,  is  apparently  all  on  one  plane.  It  is 
only  when  you  reach  some  point  from  which  you  see  it 
sideways,  that  you  realize  that  the  great  upper  fall  lies  fully 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  back  than  the  middle  and  lower 
falls,  and  that  it  rushes  down  this  space  in  boiling  cascades, 
till  it  reaches  a  perpendicular  rock,  over  which  it  leaps  about 
600  feet,  and  then  gives  a  third  and  final  plunge  of  about 
500,  making  up  a  total  of  little  under  2,700  feet.  . 

When  we  came  to  the  head  of  the  valley,  whence  diverge 
the  three  rocky  canyons,  we  bade  adieu  to  the  green 
meadows,  and  passing  up  a  most  exquisite  gorge,  crossed 
the  Illillouette  by  a  wooden  bridge,  and  followed  the  main 
fork  of  the  Merced,  up  the  central  canyon.  I  do  not  any- 
where know  a  lovelier  mile  of  river  scenery  than  on  this 
tumultuous  rushing  stream,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock, 
sweeping  around  mossy  boulders  and  falling  in  crystalline 
cascades — the  whole  fringed  with  glittering  icicles,  and 
overshadowed  by  tall  pine-trees,  whose  feathery  branches 
fringe  the  steep  cliffs  and  wave  in  the  breeze. 

Presently  a  louder  roar  of  falling  water  told  us  that  we 
were  nearing  the  Vernal  Falls,  and  through  a  frame  of  dark 
pines  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  white  spirit-like  spray- 
cloud.  Tying  up  my  pony,  we  crept  to  the  foot  of  the 
falls,  whence  a  steep  flight  of  wooden  steps  has  been  con- 
structed, by  which  a  pedestrian  can  ascend  about  400  feet 
to  the  summit,  and  thence  resume  his  way,  thus  saving  a 


THE  YO-SEMITfe  VALLEY  339 

very  long  round.  But  of  course  four-footed  creatures  must 
be  content  to  go  by  the  mountain  j  and  so  the  pony  settled 
our  route,  greatly  to  our  advantage,  for  the  view  thence, 
looking  down  the  canyon  and  across  to  Glacier  Point, 
proved  to  be  about  the  finest  thing  we  had  seen,  as  an  effect 
of  mountain  gloom. 

Just  above  the  Vernal  Falls  comes  a  reach  of  the  river 
known  as  The  Diamond  Race, — a  stream  so  rapid  and 
so  glittering,  that  it  seems  like  a  shower  of  sparkling  crys- 
tals, each  drop  a  separate  gem.  I  have  never  seen  a  race 
which,  for  speed  and  dazzling  light,  could  compare  with 
these  musical,  glancing  waters. 

For  half  a  mile  above  it,  the  river  is  a  tumultuous  raging 
flood,  rushing  at  headlong  speed  down  a  boulder-strewn 
channel.  At  the  most  beautiful  point  it  is  crossed  by  a 
light  wooden  bridge ;  and  on  the  green  mountain-meadow 
just  beyond,  stands  the  wooden  house,  to  which  a  kindly 
landlord  gave  us  a  cheery,  hearty  welcome. 

Here  the  lullaby  for  the  weary  is  the  ceaseless  roar  of  the 
mighty  Nevada  Falls,  which  come  thundering  down  the 
cliffs  in  a  sheer  leap  of  700  feet,  losing  themselves  in  a  deep 
rock-pool,  fringed  with  tall  pines,  which  loom  ghostly  and 
solemn  through  the  ever-floating  tremulous  mists  of  fine 
spray. 

It  is  a  fall  so  beautiful  as  fairly  to  divide  one's  allegiance 
to  Yo-semite,  especially  as  we  first  beheld  it  at  about  three 
in  the  afternoon,  when  the  western  rays  of  the  lowering 
sun  lighted  up  the  dark  firs  with  a  golden  glow,  and  dim 
rainbows  played  on  the  spray-clouds.  It  was  as  if  fairy 


340  THE  YO-SEMITE  VALLEY 

weavers  had  woven  borders  of  purple  and  blue,  green  and 
gold,  orange  and  delicate  rose-colour,  on  a  tissue  of  silvery 
gauze  i  and  each  dewy  drop  that  rested  on  the  fir-needles 
caught  the  glorious  light,  and  became  a  separate  prism,  as 
though  the  trees  were  sprinkled  with  liquid  radiant  gems. 

Anything  more  wonderful  than  the  beauty  of  the  Dia- 
mond Race  in  the  evening  light,  I  never  dreamt  of.  It  is 
like  a  river  in  a  fairy  tale,  all  turned  to  spray — jewelled, 
glittering  spray — rubies,  diamonds,  and  emeralds,  all  dancing 
and  glancing  in  the  sunlight. 

Just  below  this  comes  a  little  reach  of  the  smoothest, 
clearest  water,  which  seems  to  calm  and  collect  itself  ere 
gliding  over  the  edge  of  a  great  square-hewn  mass  of 
granite  400  feet  deep,  forming  the  Vernal  Falls.  Along 
the  summit  of  this  rock  there  runs  a  very  remarkable  nat- 
ural ledge  about  four  feet  in  height,  so  exactly  like  the  stone 
parapet  of  a  cyclopean  rampart  that  it  is  scarcely  possible 
to  believe  it  is  not  artificial.  Here  you  can  lean  safely 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  fall,  looking  straight  down  the  per- 
pendicular crag.  But  for  this  ledge,  it  would  be  dangerous 
even  to  set  foot  on  that  smooth,  polished  rock,  which  is  as 
slippery  as  ice. 

Early  rising  here  is  really  no  exertion,  and  it  brings  its 
own  reward,  for  there  is  an  indescribable  charm  in  the  early 
gloaming  as  it  steals  over  the  Sierras — a  freshness  and  an 
exquisite  purity  of  atmosphere  which  thrills  through  one's 
being  like  a  breath  of  the  life  celestial. 

If  you  would  enjoy  it  to  perfection,  you  must  steal  out 
alone  ere  the  glory  of  the  starlight  has  paled, — as  I  did  this 


THE  YO-SEMITfi  VALLEY  34! 

morning,  following  a  devious  pathway  between  thickets  of 
azalea,  whose  heavenly  fragrance  perfumed  the  valley. 
Then,  ascending  a  steep  track  through  the  pine-forest,  I 
reached  a  bald  grey  crag,  commanding  a  glorious  view  of 
the  valley,  and  of  some  of  the  high  peaks  beyond.  And 
thence  I  watched  the  coming  of  the  dawn. 

A  pale  daffodil  light  crept  upward,  and  the  stars  faded 
from  heaven.  Then  the  great  ghostly  granite  domes 
changed  from  deep  purple  to  a  cold  dead  white,  and  the 
far-distant  snow-capped  peaks  stood  out  in  a  glittering 
light,  while  silvery-grey  mists  floated  upward  from  the 
canyons,  as  if  awakening  from  their  sleep.  Here,  just  as  in 
our  own  Highlands,  a  faint  chill  breath  of  some  cold  cur- 
rent invariably  heralds  the  daybreak,  and  the  tremulous 
leaves  quiver,  and  whisper  a  greeting  to  the  dawn. 

Suddenly  a  faint  flush  of  rosy  light  just  tinged  the  highest 
snow-peaks,  and,  gradually  stealing  downward,  overspread 
range  beyond  range ;  another  moment,  and  the  granite 
domes  and  the  great  Rock  Sentinel  alike  blazed  in  the  fiery 
glow,  which  deepened  in  colour  till  all  the  higher  crags 
seemed  aflame,  while  the  valley  still  lay  shrouded  in  purple 
gloom,  and  a  great  and  solemn  stillness  brooded  over  all. 

Granite  Crags  (Edinburgh  and  London,  1884). 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN 

ALPHONSE  DE  LAMARTINE 

THE  land  breeze  begins  to  rise,  and  we  make  use  ofit 
to  approach  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  Dardanelles. 
Already  several  large  ships,  which  like  us  are  trying  to 
make  this  difficult  entrance,  come  near  us ;  their  large  grey 
sails,  like  the  wings  of  night-birds,  glide  silently  between 
our  brig  and  Tenedos  ;  I  go  down  below  and  fall  asleep. 

Break  of  day :  I  hear  the  rapid  sailing  of  vessels  and  the 
little  morning  waves  that  sound  around  the  sides  of  the  brig 
like  the  song  of  birds ;  I  open  the  port-hole,  and  I  see  on  a 
chain  of  low  and  rounded  hills  the  castles  of  the  Darda- 
nelles with  their  white  walls,  their  towers,  and  their  im- 
mense mouths  for  the  cannon ;  the  canal  is  scarcely  more 
than  a  league  in  width  at  this  place ;  it  winds,  like  a  beau- 
tiful river,  between  the  exactly  similar  coasts  of  Asia  and 
Europe.  The  castles  shut  in  this  sea  just  like  the  two 
wings  of  a  door ;  but  in  the  present  condition  of  Turkey 
and  Europe,  it  would  be  easy  to  force  a  passage  by  sea,  or 
to  make  a  landing  and  take  the  forts  from  the  rear;  the 
passage  of  the  Dardanelles  is  not  impregnable  unless 
guarded  by  the  Russians. 

The  rapid  current  carries  us  on  like  an  arrow  before 
Gallipoli  and  the  villages  bordering  the  canal ;  we  see  the 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN  343 

isles  in  the  Sea  of  Marmora  frowning  before  us ;  we  fol- 
low the  coast  of  Europe  for  two  days  and  two  nights, 
thwarted  by  the  north  winds.  In  the  morning  we  perceive 
perfectly  the  isles  of  the  princes,  in  the  Sea  of  Marmora, 
and  the  Gulf  of  Nicaea,  and  on  our  left  the  castle  of  the 
Seven  Towers,  and  the  aerial  tops  of  the  innumerable  min- 
arets of  Stamboul,  in  front  of  the  seven  hills  of  Constanti- 
nople. At  each  tack,  we  discover  something  new.  At  the 
first  view  of  Constantinople,  I  experienced  a  painful  emo- 
tion of  surprise  and  disillusion.  "  What !  is  this,"  I  asked 
myself,  "  the  sea,  the  shore,  and  the  marvellous  city  for 
which  the  masters  of  the  world  abandoned  Rome  and  the 
coast  of  Naples  ?  Is  this  that  capital  of  the  universe,  seated 
upon  Europe  and  Asia ;  for  which  all  the  conquering  na- 
tions disputed  by  turns  as  the  sign  of  the  supremacy  of  the 
world  ?  Is  this  the  city  that  painters  and  poets  imagine 
queen  of  cities  seated  upon  her  hills  and  her  twin  seas; 
enclosed  by  her  gulfs,  her  towers,  her  mountains,  and  con- 
taining all  the  treasures  of  nature  and  the  luxury  of  the 
Orient  ?  "  It  is  here  that  one  makes  comparison  with  the 
Bay  of  Naples  bearing  its  white  city  upon  its  hollowed 
bosom  like  a  vast  amphitheatre ;  with  Vesuvius  losing  its 
golden  brow  in  the  clouds  of  smoke  and  purple  lights,  the 
forest  of  Castellamare  plunging  its  black  foliage  into  the 
blue  sea,  and  the  islands  of  Procida  and  Ischia  with  their 
volcanic  peaks  yellow  with  vine-branches  and  white  with 
villas,  shutting  in  the  immense  bay  like  gigantic  moles 
thrown  up  by  God  himself  at  the  entrance  of  this 
port  ?  I  see  nothing  here  to  compare  to  that  spectacle  with 


344  THE  GOLDEN  HORN 

which  my  eyes  are  always  enchanted;  I  am  sailing,  it 
is  true,  upon  a  beautiful  and  lovely  sea,  but  from  the 
low  coasts,  rounded  and  monotonous  hills  rear  themselves ; 
it  is  true  that  the  snows  of  Olympus  of  Thrace  whiten  the 
horizon,  but  they  are  only  a  white  cloud  in  the  sky  and  do 
not  make  the  landscape  solemn  enough.  At  the  back  of 
the  gulf  I  see  nothing  but  the  same  rounded  hills  of  the 
same  height  without  rocks,  without  coves,  without  inden- 
tations, and  Constantinople,  which  the  pilot  points  out  with 
his  finger,  is  nothing  but  a  white  and  circumscribed  city 
upon  a  large  knoll  on  the  European  coast.  Is  it  worth 
while  having  come  so  far  to  be  disenchanted  ?  I  did  not 
wish  to  look  at  it  any  longer ;  however,  the  ceaseless  tack- 
ings  of  the  ship  brought  us  sensibly  nearer;  we  coasted 
along  the  castle  of  the  Seven  Towers,  an  immense  mediaeval 
grey  block,  severe  in  construction,  which  faces  the  sea  at 
the  angle  of  the  Greek  walls  of  the  ancient  Byzantium, 
and  we  came  to  anchor  beneath  the  houses  of  Stamboul  in 
the  Sea  of  Marmora,  in  the  midst  of  a  host  of  ships  and 
boats  delayed  like  ourselves  from  port  by  the  violence  of 
the  north  winds.  It  was  five  o'clock,  the  sky  was  serene 
and  the  sun  brilliant ;  I  began  to  recover  from  my  disdain 
of  Constantinople;  the  walls  that  enclosed  this  portion  of 
the  city  picturesquely  built  of  the  debris  of  ancient  walls 
and  surmounted  by  gardens,  kiosks  and  little  houses  of 
wood  painted  red,  formed  the  foreground  of  the  picture ; 
above,  the  terraces  of  numerous  houses  rose  in  pyramid- 
like  tiers,  story  upon  story,  cut  across  with  the  tops  of 
orange-trees  and  the  sharp,  black  spires  of  cypress;  higher 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN  345 

still,  seven  or  eight  large  mosques  crowned  the  hill,  and, 
flanked  by  their  open-work  minarets  and  their  mauresque 
colonnades,  lifted  into  the  sky  their  gilded  domes,  flaming 
with  the  palpitating  sunlight ;  the  walls,  painted  with  tender 
blue,  the  leaden  covers  of  the  cupolas  that  encircled  them, 
gave  them  the  appearance  and  the  transparent  glaze  of 
monuments  of  porcelain.  The  immemorial  cypresses  lend 
to  these  domes  their  motionless  and  sombre  peaks ;  and  the 
various  tints  of  the  painted  houses  of  the  city  make  the 
vast  hill  gay  with  all  the  colours  of  a  flower-garden.  No 
noise  issues  from  the  streets ;  no  lattice  of  the  innumerable 
windows  opens ;  no  movement  disturbs  the  habitation  of 
such  a  great  multitude  of  men :  everything  seems  to  be 
sleeping  under  the  broiling  sunlight ;  the  gulf,  furrowed  in 
every  direction  with  sails  of  all  forms  and  sizes,  alone  gives 
signs  of  life.  Every  moment  we  see  vessels  in  full  sail  clear 
the  Golden  Horn  (the  opening  of  the  Bosphorus),  the  true 
harbour  of  Constantinople,  passing  by  us  flying  towards  the 
Dardanelles ;  but  we  can  not  perceive  the  entrance  of  the 
Bosphorus,  nor  even  understand  its  position.  We  dine  on 
the  deck  opposite  this  magical  spectacle;  Turkish  caiques 
come  to  question  us  and  to  bring  us  provisions  and  food ; 
the  boatmen  tell  us  that  there  is  no  longer  any  plague  j  I 
send  my  letters  to  the  city ;  at  seven  o'clock,  M.  Truqui, 
the  consul-general  of  Sardaigne,  accompanied  by  officers  of 
his  legation,  comes  to  pay  us  a  visit  and  offer  us  the  hospi- 
tality of  his  house  in  Pera ;  there  is  not  the  slightest  hope  of 
finding  a  lodging  in  the  recently  burned  city ;  the  obliging 
cordiality,  and  the  attraction  that  M.  Truqui  inspires  at  the 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN 

first  moment,  induces  us  to  accept.  The  contrary  wind  still 
blows,  and  the  brigs  cannot  raise  anchor  this  evening :  we 
sleep  on  board. 

At  five  o'clock  I  am  standing  on  the  deck ;  the  captain 
lowers  a  boat ;  I  descend  with  him,  and  we  set  sail  to- 
wards the  mouth  of  the  Bosphorus,  coasting  along  the  walls 
of  Constantinople,  which  the  sea  washes.  After  half  an 
hour's  navigation  through  a  multitude  of  ships  at  anchor, 
we  reach  the  walls  of  the  Seraglio,  which  stand  next  to 
those  of  the  city,  and  form,  at  the  extremity  of  the  hill  that 
bears  Stamboul,  the  angle  that  separates  the  Sea  of  Mar- 
mora from  the  canal  of  the  Bosphorus  and  the  Golden 
Horn,  or  the  grand  inner  roadstead  of  Constantinople.  It  is 
here  that  God  and  man,  nature  and  art,  have  placed,  or 
created,  in  concert  the  most  marvellous  view  that  human 
eyes  may  contemplate  upon  the  earth.  I  gave  an  involun- 
tary cry,  and  I  forgot  for  ever  the  Bay  of  Naples  and  all  its 
enchantments;  to  compare  anything  to  this  magnificent 
and  gracious  combination  would  be  to  insult  creation. 

The  walls  supporting  the  circular  terraces  of  the  im- 
mense gardens  of  the  great  Seraglio  were  a  few  feet  from 
us  to  our  left,  separated  from  the  sea  by  a  narrow  sidewalk 
of  stone  flags  washed  by  the  ceaseless  billows,  where  the 
perpetual  current  of  the  Bosphorus  formed  little  murmur- 
ing waves,  as  blue  as  those  of  the  Rhone  at  Geneva ;  these 
terraces  that  rise  in  gentle  inclines  up  to  the  Sultan's  palace, 
where  you  perceive  the  gilded  domes  across  the  gigantic 
tops  of  the  plantain-trees  and  the  cypresses,  are  themselves 
planted  with  enormous  cypresses  and  plantains  whose 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN  347 

trunks  dominate  the  walls  and  whose  boughs,  spreading  be- 
yond the  garden,  hang  over  the  sea  in  cascades  of  foliage 
shadowing  the  caiques ;  the  rowers  stop  from  time  to  time 
beneath  their  shade ;  every  now  and  then  these  groups  of 
trees  are  interrupted  by  palaces,  pavilions,  kiosks,  doors 
sculptured  and  gilded  opening  upon  the  sea,  or  batteries  of 
cannon  of  copper  and  bronze  in  ancient  and  peculiar 
shapes. 

Several  pulls  of  the  oar  brought  us  to  the  precise  point  of 
the  Golden  Horn  where  you  enjoy  at  once  a  view  of  the 
Bosphorus,  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  and,  finally,  of  the  entire 
harbour,  or,  rather,  the  inland  sea  of  Constantinople  ;  there 
we  forgot  Marmora,  the  coast  of  Asia,  and  the  Bosphorus, 
taking  in  with  one  glance  the  basin  of  the  Golden  Horn 
and  the  seven  cities  seated  upon  the  seven  hills  of  Constan- 
tinople, all  converging  towards  the  arm  of  the  sea  that 
forms  the  unique  and  incomparable  city,  that  is  at  the  same 
time  city,  country,  sea,  harbour,  bank  of  flowers,  gardens, 
wooded  mountains,  deep  valleys,  an  ocean  of  houses,  a 
swarm  of  ships  and  streets,  tranquil  lakes,  and  enchanted 
solitudes, — a  view  that  no  brush  can  render  except  by  de- 
tails, and  where  each  stroke  of  the  oar  gives  the  eye  and 
soul  contradictory  aspects  and  impressions. 

We  set  sail  towards  the  hills  of  Galata  and  Pera ;  the 
Seraglio  receded  from  us  and  grew  larger  in  receding  in 
proportion  as  the  eye  embraced  more  and  more  the  vast 
outlines  of  its  walls  and  the  multitude  of  its  roofs,  its  trees, 
its  kiosks  and  its  palaces.  Of  itself  it  is  sufficient  to 
constitute  a  large  city.  The  harbour  hollows  itself  out 


348  THE  GOLDEN  HORN 

more  and  more  before  us  ;  it  winds  like  a  canal  between 
the  flanks  of  the  curved  mountains,  and  increases  as  we 
advance.  The  harbour  does  not  resemble  a  harbour  in  the 
least ;  it  is  rather  a  large  river  like  the  Thames,  enclosing 
the  two  coasts  of  the  hills  laden  with  towns,  and  covered 
from  one  bank  to  the  other  with  an  interminable  flotilla  of 
ships  variously  grouped  the  entire  length  of  the  houses. 
We  pass  by  this  innumerable  multitude  of  boats,  some 
riding  at  anchor  and  some  about  to  set  sail,  sailing  before 
the  wind  towards  the  Bosphorus,  towards  the  Black  Sea, 
or  towards  the  Sea  of  Marmora;  boats  of  all  shapes  and 
sizes  and  flags,  from  the  Arabian  barque,  whose  prow  springs 
and  rises  like  the  beak  of  antique  galleys,  to  the  vessel  of 
three  decks  with  its  glittering  walls  of  bronze.  Some  flocks 
of  Turkish  caiques,  managed  by  one  or  two  rowers  in 
silken  sleeves,  little  boats  that  serve  as  carriages  in  the 
maritime  streets  of  this  amphibious  town,  circulate  between 
the  large  masses,  cross  and  knock  against  each  other  with- 
out overturning,  and  jostle  one  another  like  a  crowd  in 
public  places ;  and  clouds  of  gulls,  like  beautiful  white 
pigeons,  rise  from  the  sea  at  their  approach,  to  travel 
further  away  and  be  rocked  upon  the  waves.  I  did  not 
try  to  count  the  vessels,  the  ships,  the  brigs,  the  boats  of 
all  kinds  and  the  barks  that  slept  or  travelled  in  the  har- 
bour of  Constantinople,  from  the  mouth  of  the  Bosphorus 
and  the  point  of  the  Seraglio  to  Eyoub  and  the  delicious 
valleys  of  sweet  waters.  The  Thames  at  London  offers 
nothing  in  comparison.  It  will  suffice  to  say  that  inde- 
pendently of  the  Turkish  flotilla  and  the  European  men- 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN  349 

of-war  at  anchor  in  the  centre  of  the  canal,  the  two  sides 
of  the  Golden  Horn  are  covered  two  or  three  vessels  deep 
for  about  a  mile  in  length.  We  could  only  see  the  ocean 
by  looking  between  the  file  of  prows  and  our  glance  lost 
itself  at  the  back  of  the  gulf  which  contracted  and  ran  into 
the  shore  amid  a  veritable  forest  of  masts. 

I  have  just  been  strolling  along  the  Asian  shore  on 
my  return  this  evening  to  Constantinople,  and  I  find  it 
a  thousand  times  more  beautiful  than  the  European  shore. 
The  Asian  shore  owes  almost  nothing  to  man ;  every- 
thing here  has  been  accomplished  by  nature.  Here  there 
is  no  Buyukdere,  no  Therapia,  no  palace  of  ambassa- 
dors, and  no  town  of  Armenians  or  Franks;  there  are 
only  mountains,  gorges  that  separate  them,  little  valleys 
carpeted  with  meadows  that  seem  to  dig  themselves  out 
of  the  rocks,  rivulets  that  wind  about  them,  cascades 
that  whiten  them  with  their  foam,  forests  that  hang  to 
their  flanks,  glide  into  their  ravines,  and  descend  to 
the  very  edges  of  the  innumerable  coast  gulfs ;  a  variety 
of  forms  and  tints,  and  of  leafy  verdure,  which  the 
brush  of  a  landscape-painter  could  not  even  hope  to 
suggest.  Some  isolated  houses  of  sailors  or  Turkish  gar- 
deners are  scattered  at  great  distances  on  the  shore, 
or  thrown  on  the  foreground  of  a  wooded  hill,  or 
grouped  upon  the  point  of  rocks  where  the  current  carries 
you,  and  breaks  into  waves  as  blue  as  the  night  sky  ;  some 
white  sails  of  fishermen,  who  creep  along  the  deep  coves, 
which  you  see  glide  from  one  plane-tree  to  another,  like 
linen  that  the  washerwomen  fold  ;  innumerable  flights  of 


35°  THE  GOLDEN  HORN 

white  birds  that  dry  themselves  on  the  edge  of  the 
meadows ;  eagles  that  hover  among  the  heights  of  the 
mountains  near  the  sea ;  mysterious  creeks  entirely  shut  in 
between  rocks  and  trunks  of  gigantic  trees,  whose  boughs, 
overcharged  with  leaves,  bend  over  the  waves  and  form 
upon  the  sea  cradles  wherein  the  caiques  creep.  One  or 
two  villages  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  these  creeks  with 
their  gardens  behind  them  on  those  green  slopes,  and  their 
group  of  trees  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  with  their  barks 
rocked  by  the  gentle  waves  before  their  doors,  their  clouds 
of  doves  on  the  roofs,  their  women  and  children  at  the 
windows,  their  old  men  seated  beneath  the  plane-trees  at 
the  foot  of  the  minaret ;  labourers  returning  from  the  fields 
in  their  caiques ;  others  who  have  filled  their  barks  with 
green  faggots,  myrtle,  or  flowering  heath  to  dry  it  for  fuel 
in  the  winter;  hidden  behind  these  heaps  of  slanting 
verdure  that  border  and  descend  into  the  water,  you  per- 
ceive neither  the  bark  nor  the  rower,  and  you  believe  that 
a  portion  of  the  bank  detached  from  the  earth  by  the 
current  is  floating  at  haphazard  on  the  sea  with  its  green 
foliage  and  its  perfumed  flowers.  The  shore  presents  this 
same  appearance  as  far  as  the  castle  of  Mahomet  II., 
which  from  this  coast  also  seems  to  shut  in  the  Bosphorus 
like  a  Swiss  lake ;  there,  it  changes  its  character ;  the  hills, 
less  rugged,  sink  their  flanks  and  more  gently  hollow  into 
narrow  valleys ;  the  Asiatic  villages  extend  more  richly  and 
nearer  together;  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia,  a  charming  little 
plain  shadowed  by  trees  and  sown  with  kiosks  and  Moor- 
ish fountains  opens  out  to  the  vision. 


THE  GOLDEN  HORN  351 

Beyond  the  palace  of  Beglierby,  the  Asian  coast  again 
becomes  wooded  and  solitary  as  far  as  Scutari,  which  is  as 
brilliant  as  a  garden  of  roses,  at  the  extremity  of  a  cape  at 
the  entrance  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora.  Opposite,  the  verdant 
point  of  the  Seraglio  presents  itself  to  the  eye ;  and  between 
the  European  coast,  crowned  with  its  three  painted  towns, 
and  the  coast  of  Stamboul,  all  glittering  with  its  cupolas 
and  minarets,  opens  the  immense  port  of  Constantinople, 
where  the  ships  anchored  at  the  two  banks  leave  only  one 
large  water-way  for  the  caiques.  I  glide  through  this  laby- 
rinth of  buildings,  as  in  a  Venetian  gondola  under  the 
shadow  of  palaces,  and  I  land  at  the  echelle  des  Marts,  under 
an  avenue  of  cypresses. 

Voyage  en  Orient  (Paris,  1843). 


THE  YELLOWSTONE1 

RUDYARD  KIPLING 

"  That  desolate  land  and  lone 
Where  the  Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone 
Roar  down  their  mountain  path." 

TWICE  have  I  written  this  letter  from  end  to  end. 
Twice  have  I  torn  it  up,  fearing  lest  those  across 
the  water  should  say  that  I  had  gone  mad  on  a  sudden. 
Now  we  will  begin  for  the  third  time  quite  solemnly  and 
soberly.  I  have  been  through  the  Yellowstone  National 
Park  in  a  buggy,  in  the  company  of  an  adventurous  old 
lady  from  Chicago  and  her  husband,  who  disapproved  of 
scenery  as  being  "  ongodly."  I  fancy  it  scared  them. 

We  began,  as  you  know,  with  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs.  They  are  only  a  gigantic  edition  of  those  pink 
and  white  terraces  not  long  ago  destroyed  by  earthquake  in 
New  Zealand.  At  one  end  of  the  little  valley  in  which  the 
hotel  stands  the  lime-laden  springs  that  break  from  the 
pine-covered  hillsides  have  formed  a  frozen  cataract  of 
white,  lemon,  and  palest  pink  formations,  through  and  over 
and  in  which  water  of  the  warmest  bubbles  and  drips  and 
trickles  from  pale-green  lagoon  to  exquisitely  fretted  basin. 

1  Published  by  permission  of  Rudyard  Kipling.     Copyright,  1899,  by 
Rudyard  Kipling. 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  353 

The  ground  rings  hollow  as  a  kerosene-tin,  and  some  day 
the  Mammoth  Hotel,  guests  and  all,  will  sink  into  the 
caverns  below  and  be  turned  into  a  stalactite.  When  I  set 
foot  on  the  first  of  the  terraces,  a  tourist — trampled  ramp 
of  scabby  grey  stuff,  I  met  a  steam  of  iron-red  hot  water, 
which  ducked  into  a  hole  like  a  rabbit.  Followed  a  gentle 
chuckle  of  laughter,  and  then  a  deep,  exhausted  sigh  from 
nowhere  in  particular.  Fifty  feet  above  my  head  a  jet  of 
steam  rose  up  and  died  out  in  the  blue.  It  was  worse  than 
the  boiling  mountain  at  Myanoshita.  The  dirty  white  de- 
posit gave  place  to  lime  whiter  than  snow  ;  and  I  found  a 
basin  which  some  learned  hotel-keeper  has  christened 
Cleopatra's  pitcher,  or  Mark  Antony's  whisky-jug,  or 
something  equally  poetical.  It  was  made  of  frosted  silver; 
it  was  filled  with  water  as  clear  as  the  sky.  I  do  not  know 
the  depth  of  that  wonder.  The  eye  looked  down  beyond 
grottoes  and  caves  of  beryl  into  an  abyss  that  communicated 
directly  with  the  central  fires  of  earth.  And  the  pool  was 
in  pain,  so  that  it  could  not  refrain  from  talking  about  it ; 
muttering  and  chattering  and  moaning.  From  the  lips  of 
the  lime-ledges,  forty  feet  under  water,  spurts  of  silver 
bubbles  would  fly  up  and  break  the  peace  of  the  crystal 
atop.  Then  the  whole  pool  would  shake  and  grow  dim, 
and  there  were  noises.  I  removed  myself  only  to  find 
other  pools  all  equally  unhappy,  rifts  in  the  ground,  full  of 
running  red-hot  water,  slippery  sheets  of  deposit  overlaid 
with  greenish  grey  hot  water,  and  here  and  there  pit-holes 
dry  as  a  rifled  tomb  in  India,  dusty  and  waterless.  Else- 
where the  infernal  waters  had  first  boiled  dead  and  then 


354  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

embalmed  the  palms  and  underwood,  or  the  forest  trees  had 
taken  heart  and  smothered  up  a  blind  formation  with 
greenery,  so  that  it  was  only  by  scraping  the  earth  you 
could  tell  what  fires  had  raged  beneath.  Yet  the  pines  will 
win  the  battle  in  years  to  come,  because  Nature,  who  first 
forges  all  her  work  in  her  great  smithies,  has  nearly  finished 
this  job,  and  is  ready  to  temper  it  in  the  soft  brown  earth. 
The  fires  are  dying  down ;  the  hotel  is  built  where  terraces 
have  overflowed  into  flat  wastes  of  deposit ;  the  pines  have 
taken  possession  of  the  high  ground  whence  the  terraces 
first  started.  Only  the  actual  curve  of  the  cataract  stands 
clear,  and  it  is  guarded  by  soldiers  who  patrol  it  with  loaded 
six-shooters,  in  order  that  the  tourist  may  not  bring  up 
fence-rails  and  sink  them  in  a  pool,  or  chip  the  fretted 
tracery  of  the  formations  with  a  geological  hammer,  or, 
walking  where  the  crust  is  too  thin,  foolishly  cook  him- 
self. .  .  . 

Next  dawning,  entering  a  buggy  of  fragile  construction, 
with  the  old  people  from  Chicago,  I  embarked  on  my 
perilous  career.  We  ran  straight  up  a  mountain  till  we 
could  see  sixty  miles  away,  the  white  houses  of  Cook  City 
on  another  mountain,  and  the  whiplash-like  trail  leading 
thereto.  The  live  air  made  me  drunk.  If  Tom,  the 
driver,  had  proposed  to  send  the  mares  in  a  bee-line  to  the 
city,  I  should  have  assented,  and  so  would  the  old  lady, 
who  chewed  gum  and  talked  about  her  symptoms.  The 
tub-ended  rock-dog,  which  is  but  the  translated  prairie-dog, 
broke  across  the  road  under  our  horses'  feet,  the  rabbit  and 
the  chipmunk  danced  with  fright ;  we  heard  the  roar  of  the 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  355 

river,  and  the  road  went  round  a  corner.  On  one  side  piled 
rock  and  shale,  that  enjoined  silence  for  fear  of  a  general 
slide-down;  on  the  other  a  sheer  drop,  and  a  fool  of  a 
noisy  river  below.  Then,  apparently  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  lest  any  should  find  driving  too  easy,  a  post  of  rock. 
Nothing  beyond  that  save  the  flank  of  a  cliff.  Then  my 
stomach  departed  from  me,  as  it  does  when  you  swing,  for 
we  left  the  dirt,  which  was  at  least  some  guarantee  of 
safety,  and  sailed  out  round  the  curve,  and  up  a  steep  in- 
cline, on  a  plank-road  built  out  from  the  cliff.  The  planks 
were  nailed  at  the  outer  edge,  and  did  not  shift  or  creak 
very  much — but  enough,  quite  enough.  That  was  the 
Golden  Gate.  I  got  my  stomach  back  again  when  we 
trotted  out  on  to  a  vast  upland  adorned  with  a  lake  and 
hills.  Have  you  ever  seen  an  untouched  land — the  face  of 
virgin  Nature?  It  is  rather  a  curious  sight,  because  the 
hills  are  choked  with  timber  that  has  never  known  an  axe, 
and  the  storm  has  rent  a  way  through  this  timber,  so  that  a 
hundred  thousand  trees  lie  matted  together  in  swathes;  and 
since  each  tree  lies  where  it  falls,  you  may  behold  trunk 
and  branch  returning  to  the  earth  whence  they  sprang — ex- 
actly as  the  body  of  man  returns — each  limb  making  its 
own  little  grave,  the  grass  climbing  above  the  bark,  till  at 
last  there  remains  only  the  outline  of  a  tree  upon  the  rank 
undergrowth. 

Then  we  drove  under  a  cliff  of  obsidian,  which  is  black 
glass,  some  two  hundred  feet  high ;  and  the  road  at  its  foot 
was  made  of  black  glass  that  crackled.  This  was  no  great 
matter,  because  half  an  hour  before  Tom  had  pulled  up  in 


356  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

the  woods  that  we  might  sufficiently  admire  a  mountain  who 
stood  all  by  himself,  shaking  with  laughter  or  rage.  .  .  . 

Then  by  companies  after  tiffin  we  walked  chattering  to 
the  uplands  of  Hell.  They  call  it  the  Norris  Geyser  Basin 
on  Earth.  It  was  as  though  the  tide  of  dissolution  had 
gone  out,  but  would  presently  return,  across  innumerable 
acres  of  dazzling  white  geyser  formation.  There  were  no 
terraces  here,  but  all  other  horrors.  Not  ten  yards  from 
the  road  a  blast  of  steam  shot  up  roaring  every  few  seconds, 
a  mud  volcano  spat  filth  to  Heaven,  streams  of  hot  water 
rumbled  under  foot,  plunged  through  the  dead  pines  in 
steaming  cataracts  and  died  on  a  waste  of  white  where 
green-grey,  black-yellow,  and  link  pools  roared,  shouted, 
bubbled,  or  hissed  as  their  wicked  fancies  prompted.  By 
the  look  of  the  eye  the  place  should  have  been  frozen  over. 
By  the  feel  of  the  feet  it  was  warm.  I  ventured  out  among 
the  pools,  carefully  following  tracks,  but  one  unwary  foot 
began  to  sink,  a  squirt  of  water  followed,  and  having  no  de- 
sire to  descend  quick  into  Tophet  I  returned  to  the  shore 
where  the  mud  and  the  sulphur  and  the  nameless  fat  ooze- 
vegetation  of  Lethe  lay.  But  the  very  road  rang  as  though 
built  over  a  gulf;  and  besides  how  was  I  to  tell  when  the 
raving  blast  of  steam  would  find  its  vent  insufficient  and 
blow  the  whole  affair  into  Nirvana  ?  There  was  a  potent 
stench  of  stale  eggs  everywhere,  and  crystals  of  sulphur 
crumbled  under  the  foot,  and  the  glare  of  the  sun  on  the 
white  stuff  was  blinding. 

We  curved  the  hill  and  entered  a  forest  of  spruce,  the 
path  serpentining  between  the  tree-boles,  the  wheels  run- 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  357 

ning  silent  on  immemorial  mould.  There  was  nothing 
alive  in  the  forest  save  ourselves.  Only  a  river  was  speak- 
ing angrily  somewhere  to  the  right.  For  miles  we  drove 
till  Tom  bade  us  alight  and  look  at  certain  falls.  Where- 
fore we  stepped  out  of  that  forest  and  nearly  fell  down  a 
cliff  which  guarded  a  tumbled  river  and  returned  demand- 
ing fresh  miracles.  If  the  water  had  run  uphill,  we  should 
perhaps  have  taken  more  notice  of  it ;  but  'twas  only  a 
waterfall,  and  I  really  forget  whether  the  water  was  warm 
or  cold.  There  is  a  stream  here  called  Firehole  River.  It 
is  fed  by  the  overflow  from  the  various  geysers  and  basins, 
— a  warm  and  deadly  river  wherein  no  fish  breed.  I  think 
we  crossed  it  a  few  dozen  times  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Then  the  sun  began  to  sink,  and  there  was  a  taste  of 
frost  about,  and  we  went  swiftly  from  the  forest  into  the 
open,  dashed  across  a  branch  of  the  Firehole  River  and 
found  a  wood  shanty,  even  rougher  than  the  last,  at  which, 
after  a  forty  mile  drive,  we  were  to  dine  and  sleep.  Half  a 
mile  from  this  place  stood,  on  the  banks  of  the  Firehole 
River  a  "  beaver-lodge,"  and  there  were  rumours  of  bears 
and  other  cheerful  monsters  in  the  woods  on  the  hill  at  the 
back  of  the  building. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  carter  who  brought  his 
team  and  a  friend  into  the  Yellowstone  Park  without  due 
thought.  Presently  they  came  upon  a  few  of  the  natural 
beauties  of  the  place,  and  that  carter  turned  his  friend's 
team,  howling  :  "  Get  back  o'  this,  Tim.  All  Hell's  alight 
under  our  noses."  And  they  call  the  place  Hell's  Half- 
acre  to  this  day.  We,  too,  the  old  lady  from  Chicago,  her 


35**  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

husband,  Tom,  and  the  good  little  mares  came  to  Hell's 
Half-acre,  which  is  about  sixty  acres,  and  when  Tom  said: 
"  Would  you  like  to  drive  over  it  ?  "  we  said  :  "  Certainly 
no,  and  if  you  do,  we  shall  report  you  to  the  authorities." 
There  was  a  plain,  blistered  and  puled  and  abominable,  and 
it  was  given  over  to  the  sportings  and  spoutings  of  devils 
who  threw  mud  and  steam  and  dirt  at  each  other  with 
whoops  and  halloos  and  bellowing  curses.  The  place 
smelt  of  the  refuse  of  the  Pit,  and  that  odour  mixed  with 
the  clean,  wholesome  aroma  of  the  pines  in  our  nostrils 
throughout  the  day.  Be  it  known  that  the  Park  is  laid 
out,  like  Ollendorf,  in  exercises  of  progressive  difficulty. 
Hell's  Half-acre  was  a  preclude  to  ten  or  twelve  miles  of 
geyser  formation.  We  passed  hot  streams  boiling  in  the 
forest ;  saw  whiffs  of  steam  beyond  these,  and  yet  other 
whiffs  breaking  through  the  misty  green  hills  in  the  far  dis- 
tance ;  we  trampled  on  sulphur,  and  sniffed  things  much 
worse  than  any  sulphur  which  is  known  to  the  upper 
world;  and  so  came  upon  a  park-like  place  where  Tom 
suggested  we  should  get  out  and  play  with  the  geysers. 

Imagine  mighty  green  fields  splattered  with  lime  beds  : 
all  the  flowers  of  the  summer  growing  up  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  lime.  That  was  the  first  glimpse  of  the  geyser 
basins.  The  buggy  had  pulled  up  close  to  a  rough,  broken, 
blistered  cone  of  stuff  between  ten  and  twenty  feet  high. 
There  was  trouble  in  that  place — moaning,  splashing,  gur- 
gling, and  the  clank  of  machinery.  A  spurt  of  boiling  water 
jumped  into  the  air  and  a  wash  of  water  followed.  I  re- 
moved swiftly.  The  old  lady  from  Chicago  shrieked. 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  359 

"  What  a  wicked  waste  !  "  said  her  husband.  I  think  they 
call  it  the  Riverside  Geyser.  Its  spout  was  torn  and 
ragged  like  the  mouth  of  a  gun  when  a  shell  has  burst 
there.  It  grumbled  madly  for  a  moment  or  two  and  then 
was  still.  I  crept  over  the  steaming  lime — it  was  the 
burning  marl  on  which  Satan  lay — and  looked  fearfully 
down  its  mouth.  You  should  never  look  a  gift  geyser  in 
the  mouth.  I  beheld  a  horrible  slippery,  slimy  funnel  with 
water  rising  and  falling  ten  feet  at  a  time.  Then  the  water 
rose  to  lip  level  with  a  rush  and  an  infernal  bubbling 
troubled  this  Devil's  Bethesda  before  the  sullen  heave  of 
the  crest  of  a  wave  lapped  over  the  edge  and  made  me  run. 
Mark  the  nature  of  the  human  soul !  I  had  begun  with 
awe,  not  to  say  terror.  I  stepped  back  from  the  flanks  of 
the  Riverside  Geyser  saying :  "  Pooh  !  Is  that  all  it  can 
do  ?  "  Yet  for  aught  I  knew  the  whole  thing  might  have 
blown  up  at  a  minute's  notice ;  she,  he,  or  it,  being  an  ar- 
rangement of  uncertain  temper. 

We  drifted  on  up  that  miraculous  valley.  On  either 
side  of  us  were  hills  from  a  thousand  to  fifteen  feet  high 
and  wooded  from  heel  to  crest.  As  far  as  the  eye  could 
range  forward  were  columns  of  steam  in  the  air,  misshapen 
lumps  of  lime,  most  like  preadamite  monsters,  still  pools  of 
turquoise  blue,  stretches  of  blue  cornflowers,  a  river  that 
coiled  on  itself  twenty  times,  boulders  of  strange  colours, 
and  ridges  of  glaring,  staring  white. 

The  old  lady  from  Chicago  poked  with  her  parasol  at 
the  pools  as  though  they  had  been  alive.  On  one  particu- 
larly innocent-looking  little  puddle  she  turned  her  back  for 


360  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

a  moment,  and  there  rose  behind  her  a  twenty-foot  column 
of  water  and  steam.  Then  she  shrieked  and  protested  that 
"  she  never  thought  it  would  ha'  done  it,"  and  the  old  man 
chewed  his  tobacco  steadily,  and  mourned  for  steam  power 
wasted.  I  embraced  the  whitened  stump  of  a  middle-sized 
pine  that  had  grown  all  too  close  to  a  hot  pool's  lip,  and 
the  whole  thing  turned  over  under  my  hand  as  a  tree  would 
do  in  a  nightmare.  From  right  and  left  came  the  trumpet- 
ings  of  elephants  at  play.  I  stepped  into  a  pool  of  old 
dried  blood  rimmed  with  the  nodding  cornflowers  j  the 
blood  changed  to  ink  even  as  I  trod ;  and  ink  and  blood 
were  washed  away  in  a  spurt  of  boiling  sulphurous  water 
spat  out  from  the  lee  of  a  bank  of  flowers.  This  sounds 
mad,  doesn't  it  ?  .  .  . 

We  rounded  a  low  spur  of  hills,  and  came  out  upon  a 
field  of  aching  snowy  lime,  rolled  in  sheets,  twisted  into 
knots,  riven  with  rents  and  diamonds  and  stars,  stretching 
for  more  than  half  a  mile  in  every  direction.  In  this  place 
of  despair  lay  most  of  the  big  geysers  who  know  when 
there  is  trouble  in  Krakatoa,  who  tell  the  pines  when  there 
is  a  cyclone  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard,  and  who — are  ex- 
hibited to  visitors  under  pretty  and  fanciful  names.  The 
first  mound  that  I  encountered  belonged  to  a  goblin  splash- 
ing in  his  tub.  I  heard  him  kick,  pull  a  shower-bath  on 
his  shoulders,  gasp,  crack  his  joints,  and  rub  himself  down 
with  a  towel ;  then  he  let  the  water  out  of  the  bath,  as  a 
thoughtful  man  should,  and  it  all  sank  down  out  of  sight 
till  another  goblin  arrived.  Yet  they  called  this  place  the 
Lioness  and  the  Cubs.  It  lies  not  very  far  from  the  Lion, 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  361 

which  is  a  sullen,  roaring  beast,  and  they  say  that  when  it 
is  very  active  the  other  geysers  presently  follow  suit. 
After  the  Krakatoa  eruption  all  the  geysers  went  mad  to- 
gether, spouting,  spurting,  and  bellowing  till  men  feared 
that  they  would  rip  up  the  whole  field.  Mysterious  sym- 
pathies exist  among  them,  and  when  the  Giantess  speaks 
(of  her  more  anon)  they  all  hold  their  peace. 

I  was  watching  a  solitary  spring,  when,  far  across  the 
fields,  stood  up  a  plume  of  spun  glass,  iridescent  and  superb 
against  the  sky.  "  That,"  said  the  trooper,  "  is  Old  Faith- 
ful. He  goes  off  every  sixty-five  minutes  to  the  minute, 
plays  for  five  minutes,  and  sends  up  a  column  of  water  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high.  By  the  time  you  have  looked 
at  all  the  other  geysers  he  will  be  ready  to  play." 

So  we  looked  and  we  wondered  at  the  Beehive,  whose 
mouth  is  built  up  exactly  like  a  hive ;  at  the  Turban  (which 
is  not  in  the  least  like  a  turban) ;  and  at  many,  many 
other  geysers,  hot  holes,  and  springs.  Some  of  them  rum- 
bled, some  hissed,  some  went  off  spasmodically,  and  others 
lay  still  in  sheets  of  sapphire  and  beryl. 

Would  you  believe  that  even  these  terrible  creatures  have 
to  be  guarded  by  troopers  to  prevent  the  irreverent  Ameri- 
can from  chipping  the  cones  to  pieces,  or  worse  still,  mak- 
ing the  geysers  sick  ?  If  you  take  of  soft-soap  a  small  barrel- 
ful  and  drop  it  down  a  geyser's  mouth,  that  geyser  will  pres- 
ently be  forced  to  lay  all  before  you  and  for  days  after- 
wards will  be  of  an  irritated  and  inconsistent  stomach. 
When  they  told  me  the  tale  I  was  filled  with  sympathy. 
Now  I  wish  that  I  had  stolen  soap  and  tried  the  experi- 


362  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

ment  on  some  lonely  little  beast  of  a  geyser  in  the  woods. 
It  sounds  so  probable — and  so  human. 

Yet  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would  administer  emet- 
ics to  the  Giantess.  She  is  flat-lipped,  having  no  mouth, 
she  looks  like  a  pool,  fifty  feet  long  and  thirty  wide,  and 
there  is  no  ornamentation  about  her.  At  irregular  intervals 
she  speaks,  and  sends  up  a  column  of  water  over  two 
hundred  feet  high  to  begin  with ;  then  she  is  angry  for  a 
day  and  a  half — sometimes  for  two  days.  Owing  to  her 
peculiarity  of  going  mad  in  the  night  not  many  people  have 
seen  the  Giantess  at  her  finest  ;  but  the  clamour  of  her  un- 
rest, men  say,  shakes  the  wooden  hotel,  and  echoes  like 
thunder  among  the  hills.  When  I  saw  her;  trouble  was 
brewing.  The  pool  bubbled  seriously,  and  at  five-minute 
intervals,  sank  a  foot  or  two,  then  rose,  washed  over  the 
rim,  and  huge  steam  bubbles  broke  on  the  top.  Just  before 
an  eruption  the  water  entirely  disappears  from  view. 
Whenever  you  see  the  water  die  down  in  a  geyser-mouth 
get  away  as  fast  as  you  can.  I  saw  a  tiny  little  geyser  suck 
in  its  breath  in  this  way,  and  instinct  made  me  retire  while 
it  hooted  after  me.  Leaving  the  Giantess  to  swear,  and 
spit,  and  thresh  about,  we  went  over  to  Old  Faithful,  who 
by  reason  of  his  faithfulness  has  benches  close  to  him 
whence  you  may  comfortably  watch.  At  the  appointed 
hour  we  heard  the  water  flying  up  and  down  the  mouth 
with  the  sob  of  waves  in  a  cave.  Then  came  the  prelimin- 
ary gouts,  then  a  roar  and  a  rush,  and  that  glittering  column 
of  diamonds  rose,  quivered,  stood  still  for  a  minute ;  then 
it  broke,  and  the  rest  was  a  confused  snarl  of  water  not 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  363 

thirty  feet  high.  All  the  young  ladies — not  more  than 
twenty — in  the  tourist  band  remarked  that  it  was  "  elegant," 
and  betook  themselves  to  writing  their  names  in  the  bottoms 
of  shallow  pools.  Nature  fixes  the  insult  indelibly,  and  the 
after-years  will  learn  that  "  Hattie,"  "  Sadie,"  "  Mamie," 
"  Sophie,"  and  so  forth,  have  taken  out  their  hair-pins,  and 
scrawled  in  the  face  of  Old  Faithful.  .  .  . 

Next  morning  Tom  drove  us  on,  promising  new  won- 
ders. He  pulled  up  after  a  few  miles  at  a  clump  of  brush- 
wood where  an  army  was  drowning.  I  could  hear  the  sick 
gasps  and  thumps  of  the  men  going  under,  but  when  I  broke 
through  the  brushwood  the  hosts  had  fled,  and  there  were 
only  pools  of  pink,  black,  and  white  lime,  thick  as  turbid 
honey.  They  shot  up  a  pat  of  mud  every  minute  or  two, 
choking  in  the  effort.  It  was  an  uncanny  sight.  Do  you 
wonder  that  in  the  old  days  the  Indians  were  careful  to 
avoid  the  Yellowstone  ?  Geysers  are  permissible,  but  mud 
is  terrifying.  The  old  lady  from  Chicago  took  a  piece  of 
it,  and  in  half  an  hour  it  died  into  lime-dust  and  blew  away 
between  her  fingers.  All  maya — illusion, — you  see  !  Then 
we  clinked  over  sulphur  in  crystals  ;  there  was  a  waterfall  of 
boiling  water;  and  a  road  across  a  level  park  hotly  contested 
by  the  beavers. 

As  we  climbed  the  long  path  the  road  grew  viler  and 
viler  till  it  became  without  disguise,  the  bed  of  a  torrent ; 
and  just  when  things  were  at  their  rockiest  we  emerged 
into  a  little  sapphire  lake — but  never  sapphire  was  so  blue — 
called  Mary's  lake  ;  and  that  between  eight  and  nine  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  sea.  Then  came  grass  downs,  all  on  a 


364  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

vehement  slope,  so  that  the  buggy  following  the  new-made 
road  ran  on  to  the  two  off-wheels  mostly,  till  we  dipped 
head-first  into  a  ford,  climbed  up  a  cliff,  raced  along  a 
down,  dipped  again  and  pulled  up  dishevelled  at  u  Larry's  " 
for  lunch  and  an  hour's  rest. 

The  sun  was  sinking  when  we  heard  the  roar  of  falling 
waters  and  came  to  a  broad  river  along  whose  banks  we 
ran.  And  then — oh,  then !  I  might  at  a  pinch  describe 
the  infernal  regions,  but  not  the  other  place.  Be  it  known 
to  you  that  the  Yellowstone  River  has  occasion  to  run 
through  a  gorge  about  eight  miles  long.  To  get  to  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge  it  makes  two  leaps,  one  of  about  I2O 
and  the  other  of  300  feet.  I  investigated  the  upper  or  lesser 
fall,  which  is  close  to  the  hotel.  Up  to  that  time  nothing 
particular  happens  to  the  Yellowstone,  its  banks  being  only 
rocky,  rather  steep,  and  plentifully  adorned  with  pines.  At 
the  falls  it  comes  round  a  corner,  green,  solid,  ribbed  with 
a  little  foam,  and  not  more  than  thirty  yards  wide.  Then 
it  goes  over  still  green  and  rather  more  solid  than  before. 
After  a  minute  or  two  you,  sitting  on  a  rock  directly  above 
the  drop,  begin  to  understand  that  something  has  occurred ; 
that  the  river  has  jumped  a  huge  distance  between  the  solid 
cliff  walls  and  what  looks  like  the  gentle  froth  of  ripples 
lapping  the  sides  of  the  gorge  below  is  really  the  outcome 
of  great  waves.  And  the  river  yells  aloud;  but  the  cliffs 
do  not  allow  the  yells  to  escape. 

That  inspection  began  with  curiosity  and  finished  in  ter- 
ror, for  it  seemed  that  the  whole  world  was  sliding  in  chrys- 
olite from  under  my  feet.  I  followed  with  the  others 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  365 

round  the  corner  to  arrive  at  the  brink  of  the  canon  -,  we 
had  to  climb  up  a  nearly  perpendicular  ascent  to  begin  with, 
for  the  ground  rises  more  than  the  river  drops.  Stately  pine 
woods  fringe  either  lip  of  the  gorge,  which  is — the  Gorge 
of  the  Yellowstone. 

All  I  can  say  is  that  without  warning  or  preparation  I 
looked  into  a  gulf  1,700  feet  deep  with  eagles  and  fish- 
hawks  circling  far  below.  And  the  sides  of  that  gulf  were 
one  wild  welter  of  colour — crimson,  emerald,  cobalt,  ochre, 
amber,  honey  splashed  with  port-wine,  snow-white,  ver- 
milion, lemon,  and  silver-grey,  in  wide  washes.  The  sides 
did  not  fall  sheer,  but  were  graven  by  time  and  water  and 
air  into  monstrous  heads  of  kings,  dead  chiefs,  men  and 
women  of  the  old  time.  So  far  below  that  no  sound  of  its 
strife  could  reach  us,  the  Yellowstone  River  ran — a  finger- 
wide  strip  of  jade-green.  The  sunlight  took  these  won- 
drous walls  and  gave  fresh  hues  to  those  that  nature  had  al- 
ready laid  there.  Once  I  saw  the  dawn  break  over  a  lake 
in  Rajputana  and  the  sun  set  over  Oodey  Sagar  amid  a 
circle  of  Holman  Hunt  hills.  This  time  I  was  watching 
both  performances  going  on  below  me — upside  down  you 
understand — and  the  colours  were  real !  The  canon  was 
burning  like  Troy  town ;  but  it  would  not  burn  forever, 
and,  thank  goodness,  neither  pen  nor  brush  could  ever  por- 
tray its  splendours  adequately.  The  Academy  would  reject 
the  picture  for  a  chromo-lithograph.  The  public  would 
scoff  at  the  letter-press  for  Daily  Telegraphese.  "  I  will 
leave  this  thing  alone,"  said  I;  "'tis  my  peculiar  property. 
Nobody  else  shall  share  it  with  me."  Evening  crept 


366  THE  YELLOWSTONE 

through  the  pines  that  shadowed  us,  but  the  full  glory  of 
the  day  flamed  in  that  canon  as  we  went  out  very  cautiously 
to  a  jutting  piece  of  rock — blood-red  or  pink  it  was — that 
overhung  the  deepest  deeps  of  all.  Now  I  know  what  it  is 
to  sit  enthroned  amid  the  clouds  of  sunset.  Giddiness  took 
away  all  sensation  of  touch  or  form  ;  but  the  sense  of  blind- 
ing colour  remained.  When  I  reached  the  mainland  again 
I  had  sworn  that  I  had  been  floating. 

From  Sea  to  Sea:      Letters  of  Travel  (New  York,  1899). 


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